EDUCATION  LIHR. 


W  J  Will 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 


Education 

GIFT  OF 

Louise  Farrow  Barr 


Cw  s>} 


WUv 


iSp  f&v*.  Muffin. 


THE  BIRDS'  CHRISTMAS  CAROL.  Illustrated.  Square 
i2mo,  50  cents. 

THE  STORY  OF  PATSY.  Illustrated.  Square  121110, 
60  cents. 

A  SUMMER  IN  A  CArfoN.  A  California  Story.  Illus- 
trated.    i6mo,  $1.25. 

TIMOTHY'S  QUEST.  A  Story  for  Anybody,  Young  or 
Old,  who  cares  to  read  it.     i6mo,  $1.00. 

The  Same.  Holiday  Edition.  Illustrated.  Crown  8vo, 
$1.50. 

A  CATHEDRAL  COURTSHIP,  AND  PENELOPE'S 
ENGLISH    EXPERIENCES.    Illustrated.     i6mo,  $1.00. 

PENELOPE'S  PROGRESS.  In  unique  Scottish  bind- 
ing.    i6mo,  $  1.25. 

POLLY  OLIVER'S  PROBLEM.   Illustrated.  i6mo,  $1.00. 

The  Same.     In  Riverside  School  Library.     60  cents,  net. 

THE  VILLAGE   WATCH-TOWER.     i6mo,  $1.00. 

MARM    LISA.     i6mo,  $1.00. 

NINE  LOVE  SONGS,  AND  A  CAROL.  Music  by  Mrs. 
Wiggin.  Words  by  Herrick,  Sill,  and  others.  Square 
8vo  $1.25. 


33p  Jflra.  SSEiffffin  an*  pifig  &mitl). 

THE   STORY   HOUR.     A  Book  for  the  Home  and  Kin- 

dergarten.       By  Mrs.   Wiggin   and   Nora   A.    Smith. 

Illustrated.     i6mo,  $1.00. 
CHILDREN'S  RIGHTS.     By  Mrs.  Wiggin  and  Nora  A. 

Smith.     A  Book  of  Nursery  Logic.   i6mo,  $1.00. 
THE    REPUBLIC    OF    CHILDHOOD.      By  Mrs.  Wiggin 

and  Nora  A.  Smith.     In  three  volumes,  each,  i6mo, 

$1.00. 

I.    FROEBEL'S    GIFTS. 
II.    FROEBEL'S    OCCUPATIONS. 
III.    KINDERGARTEN   PRINCIPLES  AND   PRACTICE. 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY, 

Boston  and  New  York. 


BEING  SUCH  EXTRACTS  FROM 

THE  COMMONPLACE  BOOK 

OF  PENELOPE  HAMILTON 

AS  RELATE  TO  HER 

EXPERIENCES  IN 

SCOTLAND 

BY 

KATE   DOUGLAS  WIGGIN 


BOSTON    AND    NEW   YORK 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN   AND   COMPANY 

<$ftt  fttoerinbe  pre#,  Cambribge 


COPYRIGHT,  1897  AND  1 898,  BY  HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY 

COPYRIGHT,    1898,    BY   KATE   DOUGLAS   RIGGS 

ALL   RIGHTS   RESERVED 

Education 
Add'l 


GIFT? 


TWENTY   FIFTH   THOUSAND 


(o^ 


TO 

g.  a  r. 


\m 


334 


CONTENTS 

PART   FIRST.    IN   TOWN 

PAGE 

I.  A  Triangular  Alliance i 

II.  "  Edina,  Scotia's  Darling  Seat"       .        .        12 

III.  A  Vision  in  Princes  Street  .        .        .        .18 

IV.  Susanna  Crum  couldna  say        ...       29 
V.  We  emulate  the  Jackdaw      .        .        .        .38 

VI.  Edinburgh  Society,  Past  and  Present  .  48 

VII.   Francesca  meets  th'  Unconquer'd  Scot    .  60 

VIII.  "  What  made  th'  Assembly  shine  ? "  .        .  70 
IX.   Omnia  Presbyteria   est  Divisa  in  Partes 

Tres 82 

X.   Mrs.  M'Collop  as  a  Sermon-Taster     .        .  93 

XL     HOLYROOD    AWAKENS 101 

XII.  Farewell  to  Edinburgh 117 

XIII.  The  Spell  of  Scotland        ....      124 

PART  SECOND.     IN  THE  COUNTRY 

XIV.  The  Wee  Theekit  Hoosie  in  the  Loaning  137 
XV.  Jane  Grieve  and  her  Grievances    .        .      147 

XVI.  The  Path  that  led  to  Crummylowe  .  .  161 
XVII.  Playing  Sir  Patrick  Spens  .  .  .  168 
XVIII.  Paris  comes  to  Pettybaw       .        .        .        .182 

XIX.  Fowk  o'  Fife 190 

XX.  A  Fifeshire  Tea-Party 207 

XXL  International  Bickering  ....  214 
XXII.  Francesca    entertains    the    Green -Eyed 

Monster 224 

XXIIL   Ballad  Revels  at  Rowardennan         .        .  234 

XXIV.  Old  Songs  and  Modern  Instances   .        .      244 

XXV.  A  Treaty  between  Nations   ....  255 

XXVI.  "  Scotland  's  burning  !    Look  out  ! "        .      260 

XXVII.  Three  Magpies  and  a  Marriage  .        .       .  265 


PENELOPE'S    PROGRESS 


PART   FIRST.     IN   TOWN 


"  Edina,  Scotia's  darling  seat ! 
All  hail  thy  palaces  and  towers !  " 

Edinburgh,  April,  189-. 
22,  Breadalbane  Terrace. 

We  have  traveled  together  before,  Salemina, 
Francesca,  and  I,  and  we  know  the  very  worst 
there  is  to  know  about  one  another.  After  this 
point  has  been  reached,  it  is  as  if  a  triangular 
marriage  had  taken  place,  and,  with  the  honey- 
moon comfortably  over,  we  slip  along  in  thoroughly 
friendly  fashion.  I  use  no  warmer  word  than 
"  friendly  "  because,  in  the  first  place,  the  highest 
tides  of  feeling  do  not  visit  the  coast  of  triangu- 
lar alliances ;  and  because,  in  the  second  place, 
"friendly"  is  a  word  capable  of  putting  to  the 
blush  many  a  more  passionate  and  endearing  one. 

Every  one  knows  of  our  experiences  in  Eng- 
land, for  we  wrote  volumes  of  letters  concerning 
them,  the  which  were  widely  circulated  among 
our  friends  at  the  time  and  read  aloud  under  the 
evening  lamps  in  the  several  cities  of  our  resi- 
dence. 


Penelope  s  Progress 


Since  then  few  striking  changes  have  taken 
place  in  our  history. 

Salemina  returned  to  Boston  for  the  winter,  to 
find,  to  her  amazement,  that  for  forty  odd  years 
she  had  been  rather  overestimating  it. 

On  arriving  in  New  York,  Francesca  discov- 
ered that  the  young  lawyer  whom  for  six  months 
she  had  been  advising  to  marry  somebody  "  more 
worthy  than  herself  "  was  at  last  about  to  do  it. 
This  was  somewhat  in  the  nature  of  a  shock,  for 
Francesca  has  been  in  the  habit,  ever  since  she 
was  seventeen,  of  giving  her  lovers  similar  advice, 
and  up  to  this  time  no  one  of  them  has  ever 
taken  it.  She  therefore  has  had  the  not  unnat- 
ural hope,  I  think,  of  organizing  at  one  time  or 
another  all  these  disappointed  and  faithful  swains 
into  a  celibate  brotherhood  ;  and  perhaps  of  driv- 
ing by  the  interesting  monastery  with  her  hus- 
band and  calling  his  attention  modestly  to  the 
fact  that  these  poor  monks  were  filling  their  bar- 
ren lives  with  deeds  of  piety,  trying  to  remember 
their  Creator  with  such  assiduity  that  they  might, 
in  time,  forget  Her. 

Her  chagrin  was  all  the  keener  at  losing  this 
last  aspirant  to  her  hand  in  that  she  had  almost 
persuaded  herself  that  she  was  as  fond  of  him  as 
she  was  likely  to  be  of  anybody,  and  that,  on  the 
whole,  she  had  better  marry  him  and  save  his 
life  and  reason. 

Fortunately  she   had  not   communicated   this 


Penelope  s  Progress 


gleam  of  hope  by  letter,  feeling,  I  suppose,  that 
she  would  like  to  see  for  herself  the  light  of  joy- 
breaking  over  his  pale  cheek.  The  scene  would 
have  been  rather  pretty  and  touching,  but  mean- 
time the  Worm  had  turned  and  dispatched  a 
letter  to  the  Majestic  at  the  quarantine  station, 
telling  her  that  he  had  found  a  less  reluctant 
bride  in  the  person  of  her  intimate  friend  Miss 
Rosa  Van  Brunt ;  and  so  Francesca's  dream  of 
duty  and  sacrifice  was  over. 

Salemina  says  she  was  somewhat  constrained 
for  a  week  and  a  trifle  cynical  for  a  fortnight, 
but  that  afterwards  her  spirits  mounted  on  ever 
ascending  spirals  to  impossible  heights,  where 
they  have  since  remained.  It  appears  from  all 
this  that  although  she  was  piqued  at  being  taken 
at  her  word,  her  heart  was  not  in  the  least  dam- 
aged. It  never  was  one  of  those  fragile  things 
which  have  to  be  wrapped  in  cotton,  and  preserved 
from  the  slightest  blow — Francesca's  heart. 
It  is  made  of  excellent  stout,  durable  material, 
and  I  often  tell  her  with  the  care  she  takes  of  it, 
and  the  moderate  strain  to  which  it  is  subjected, 
it  ought  to  be  as  good  as  new  a  hundred  years 
hence. 

As  for  me,  the  scene  of  my  own  love  story  is 
laid  in  America  and  England,  and  has  naught  to 
do  with  Edinburgh.  It  is  far  from  finished; 
indeed,  I  hope  it  will  be  the  longest  serial  on 
record,  one  of  those  charming  tales  that  grow  in 


Penelope  s  Progress 


interest  as  chapter  after  chapter  unfolds,  until  at 
the  end  we  feel  as  if  we  could  never  part  with  the 
delightful  people. 

I  should  be,  at  this  very  moment,  Mrs.  William 
Beresford,  a  highly  respectable  young  matron 
who  painted  rather  good  pictures  in  her  spinster 
days,  when  she  was  Penelope  Hamilton  of  the 
great  American  working-class,  Unlimited;  but 
first  Mrs.  Beresford's  dangerous  illness,  and  then 
her  death,  have  kept  my  dear  boy  a  willing  pris- 
oner in  Cannes,  his  heart  sadly  torn  betwixt  his 
love  and  duty  to  his  mother  and  his  desire  to  be 
with  me.  The  separation  is  virtually  over  now, 
and  we  two,  alas,  have  ne'er  a  mother  or  a  father 
between  us,  so  we  shall  not  wait  many  months 
before  beginning  to  comfort  each  other  in  good 
earnest. 

Meantime  Salemina  and  Francesca  have  per- 
suaded me  to  join  their  forces,  and  Mr.  Beres- 
ford will  follow  us  to  Scotland  in  a  few  short 
weeks,  when  we  shall  have  established  ourselves 
in  the  country. 

We  are  overjoyed  at  being  together  again,  we 
three  women  folk.  As  I  said  before,  we  know 
the  worst  of  one  another,  and  the  future  has  no 
terrors.     We  have  learned,  for  example,  that :  — 

Francesca  does  not  like  an  early  morning 
start.  Salemina  refuses  to  arrive  late  anywhere. 
Penelope  prefers  to  stay  behind  and  follow  next 
day. 


Penelope  s  Progress  5 

Francesca  scorns  to  travel  third  class.  So 
does  Salemina,  but  she  will  if  urged. 

Penelope  hates  a  four-wheeler.  Salemina  is 
nervous  in  a  hansom.  Francesca  prefers  a  Vic- 
toria. 

Salemina  likes  a  steady  fire  in  the  grate. 
Penelope  opens  a  window  and  fans  herself. 

Salemina  inclines  to  instructive  and  profitable 
expeditions.  Francesca  loves  processions  and 
sightseeing.  Penelope  abhors  all  of  these 
equally. 

Salemina  likes  history.  Francesca  loves  fic- 
tion.    Penelope  adores  poetry  and  detests  facts. 

Penelope  likes  substantial  breakfasts.  Fran- 
cesca dislikes  the  sight  of  food  in  the  morning. 

In  the  matter  of  breakfasts,  when  we  have 
leisure  to  assert  our  individual  tastes,  Salemina 
prefers  tea,  Francesca  cocoa,  and  I,  coffee.  We 
can  never,  therefore,  be  served  with  a  large  com- 
fortable pot  of  anything,  but  are  confronted  in- 
stead with  a  caravan  of  silver  jugs,  china  jugs, 
bowls  of  hard  and  soft  sugar,  hot  milk,  cold  milk, 
hot  water,  and  cream,  while  each  in  her  secret 
heart  wishes  that  the  other  two  were  less  exigeante 
in  the  matter  of  diet. 

This  does  not  sound  promising,  but  it  works 
perfectly  well  in  practice  by  the  exercise  of  a 
little  flexibility. 

As  we  left  dear  old  Dovermarle  Street  and 
Smith's  Private  Hotel  behind,  and  drove  to  the 


Penelope  s  Progress 


station  to  take  the  Flying  Scotsman,  we  indulged 
in  floods  of  reminiscence  over  the  joys  of  travel 
we  had  tasted  together  in  the  past,  and  talked 
with  lively  anticipation  of  the  new  experiences 
awaiting  us  in  the  land  of  heather. 

While  Salemina  went  to  purchase  the  three 
first-class  tickets,  I  superintended  the  porters  as 
they  disposed  our  luggage  in  the  van,  and  in  so 
doing  my  eye  lighted  upon  a  third-class  carriage 
which  was,  for  a  wonder,  clean,  comfortable,  and 
vacant.  Comparing  it  hastily  with  the  first-class 
compartment  being  held  by  Francesca,  I  found 
that  it  differed  only  in  having  no  carpet  on  the 
floor,  and  a  smaller  number  of  buttons  in  the 
upholstering.  This  was  really  heart-rending 
when  the  difference  in  fare  for  three  persons 
would  be  at  least  twenty  dollars.  What  a  de- 
lightful sum  to  put  aside  for  a  rainy  day ;  that 
is,  you  understand,  what  a  delightful  sum  to  put 
aside  and  spend  on  the  first  rainy  day;  for  that 
is  the  way  we  always  interpret  the  expression. 

When  Salemina  returned  with  the  tickets,  she 
found  me,  as  usual,  bewailing  our  extravagance. 

Francesca  descended  suddenly  from  her  post, 
and,  snatching  the  tickets  from  her  duenna,  ex- 
claimed, "  '  I  know  that  I  can  save  the  country, 
and  I  know  no  other  man  can  ! '  as  William  Pitt 
said  to  the  Duke  of  Devonshire.  I  have  had 
enough  of  this  argument.  For  six  months  of  last 
year  we  discussed  traveling  third  class  and  con- 


Penelope  s  Progress 


tinued  to  travel  first.  Get  into  that  clean,  hard- 
seated,  ill-upholstered  third-class  carriage  imme- 
diately, both  of  you ;  save  room  enough  for  a 
mother  with  two  babies,  a  man  carrying  a  basket 
of  fish,  and  an  old  woman  with  five  pieces  of 
hand-luggage  and  a  dog  j  meanwhile  I  will  ex- 
change the  tickets." 

So  saying,  she  disappeared  rapidly  among  the 
throng  of  passengers,  guards,  porters,  newspaper 
boys,  golfers  with  bags  of  clubs,  young  ladies 
with  bicycles,  and  old  ladies  with  tin  hat-boxes. 

"What  decision,  what  swiftness  of  judgment, 
what  courage  and  energy !  "  murmured  Salemina. 
"  Is  n't  she  wonderfully  improved  since  that  un- 
expected turning  of  the  Worm  ?  " 

Francesca  rejoined  us  just  as  the  guard  was 
about  to  lock  us  in,  and  flung  herself  down,  quite 
breathless  from  her  unusual  exertion. 

"  Well,  we  are  traveling  third  for  once,  and  the 
money  is  saved,  or  at  least  it  is  ready  to  spend 
again  at  the  first  opportunity.  The  man  did  n't 
wish  to  exchange  the  tickets  at  all.  He  says  it 
is  never  done.  I  told  him  they  were  bought  by  a 
very  inexperienced  American  lady  (that  is  you, 
Salemina)  who  knew  almost  nothing  of  the  dis- 
tinctions between  first  and  third  class,  and  natu- 
rally took  the  best,  believing  it  to  be  none  too 
good  for  a  citizen  of  the  greatest  republic  on  the 
face  of  the  earth.  He  said  the  tickets  had  been 
stamped  on.     I  said  so  should  I  be  if  I  returned 


8  Penelope  s  Progress 

without  exchanging  them.  He  was  a  very  dense 
person,  and  did  n't  see  my  joke  at  all,  but  then, 
it  is  true,  there  were  thirteen  men  in  line  behind 
me,  with  the  train  starting  in  three  minutes,  and 
there  is  nothing  so  debilitating  to  a  naturally 
weak  sense  of  humor  as  selling  tickets  behind  a 
grating,  so  I  am  not  really  vexed  with  him. 
There  !  we  are  quite  comfortable,  pending  the 
arrival  of  the  babies,  the  dog,  and  the  fish,  and 
certainly  no  vender  of  periodic  literature  will 
dare  approach  us  while  we  keep  these  books  in 
evidence." 

She  had  Laurence  Hutton's  "Literary  Land- 
marks "  and  "  Royal  Edinburgh,"  by  Mrs.  Oli- 
phant  j  I  had  Lord  Cockburn's  Memorials  of  his 
Time  \  and  somebody  had  given  Salemina,  at  the 
moment  of  leaving  London,  a  work  on  "  Scotia's 
darling  seat,"  in  three  huge  volumes.  When  all 
this  printed  matter  was  heaped  on  the  top  of 
Salemina's  hold-all  on  the  platform,  the  guard  had 
asked,  "  Do  you  belong  to  these  books,  mam  ?  " 

"  We  may  consider  ourselves  injured  in  going 
from  London  to  Edinburgh  in  a  third-class  car- 
riage in  eight  or  ten  hours,  but  listen  to  this," 
said  Salemina,  who  had  opened  one  of  her  large 
volumes  at  random  when  the  train  started. 

"  '  The  Edinburgh  and  London  Stage-Coach 
begins  on  Monday,  13th  October,  17 12.  All  that 
desire  ...  let  them  repair  to  the  Coach  and  Horses 
at  the  head  of  the  Canongate  every  Saturday,  or 


Penelope  s  Progress 


the  Black  Swan  in  Holborn  every  other  Monday, 
at  both  of  which  places  they  may  be  received  in  a 
coach  which  performs  the  whole  journey  in  thir- 
teen days  without  any  stoppage  (if  God  permits) 
having  eighty  able  horses.  Each  passenger  pay- 
ing £4  10s.  for  the  whole  journey,  alowing  each  20 
lbs.  weight  and  all  above  to  pay  6d.  per  lb.  The 
coach  sets  off  at  six  in  the  morning' (you  could 
never  have  caught  it,  Francesca  !),  *  and  is  per- 
formed by  Henry  Harrison.'  And  here  is  a  '  mod- 
ern improvement,'  forty-two  years  later.  In  July, 
1754,  the  'Edinburgh  Courant '  advertises  the 
stage-coach  drawn  by  six  horses,  with  a  postilion 
on  one  of  the  leaders,  as  a  '  new,  genteel,  two- 
end  glass  machine,  hung  on  steel  springs,  exceed- 
ing light  and  easy,  to  go  in  ten  days  in  summer 
and  twelve  in  winter.  Passengers  to  pay  as 
usual.  Performed  (if  God  permits)  by  your  duti- 
ful servant,  Hosea  Eastgate.  Care  is  taken  of 
small  parcels  according  to  their  value?  " 

"  It  would  have  been  a  long,  wearisome  jour- 
ney," said  I  contemplatively ;  "  but,  nevertheless, 
I  wish  we  were  making  it  in  17 12  instead  of  a 
century  and  three  quarters  later." 

"  What  would  have  been  happening,  Sale- 
mina  ?  "  asked  Francesca  politely,  but  with  no 
real  desire  to  know. 

"  The  Union  had  been  already  established  five 
years,"  began  Salemina  intelligently. 

"  Which  Union  ? " 


IO  Penelope  s  Progress 

"  Whose  Union  ? " 

Salemina  is  used  to  these  interruptions  and 
eruptions  of  illiteracy  on  our  part.  I  think  she 
rather  enjoys  them,  as  in  the  presence  of  such 
complete  ignorance  as  ours  her  lamp  of  know- 
ledge burns  all  the  brighter. 

"  Anne  was  on  the  throne,"  she  went  on,  with 
serene  dignity. 

"  What  Anne  ?  " 

"  I  know  the  Anne !  "  exclaimed  Francesca 
excitedly.  "  She  came  from  the  Midnight  Sun 
country,  or  up  that  way.  She  was  very  extrava- 
gant, and  had  something  to  do  with  Jingling 
Geordie  in  '  The  Fortunes  of  Nigel.'  It  is  mar- 
velous how  one's  history  comes  back  to  one  !  " 

"  Quite  marvelous,"  said  Salemina  dryly  j  "or 
at  least  the  state  in  which  it  comes  back  is  mar- 
velous. I  am  not  a  stickler  for  dates,  as  you 
know,  but  if  you  could  only  contrive  to  fix  a  few 
periods  in  your  minds,  girls,  just  in  a  general  way, 
you  would  not  be  so  shamefully  befogged.  Your 
Anne  of  Denmark,  Francesca,  was  the  wife  of 
James  VI.  of  Scotland,  who  was  James  I.  of 
England,  and  she  died  a  hundred  years  before 
the  Anne  I  mean,  —  the  last  of  the  Stuarts,  you 
know.  My  Anne  came  after  William  and  Mary, 
and  before  the  Georges." 

"  Which  William  and  Mary  ?  " 

"  What  Georges  ? " 

But   this  was   too  much   even   for  Salemina's 


Penelopes  Progress  1 1 

equanimity,  and  she  retired  behind  her  book  in 
dignified  displeasure,  while  Francesca  and  I 
meekly  looked  up  the  Annes  in  a  genealogical 
table,  and  tried  to  decide  whether  "b.  1665" 
meant  born  or  beheaded. 


II 

The  weather  that  greeted  us  on  our  unher- 
alded arrival  in  Scotland  was  of  the  precise  sort 
offered  by  Edinburgh  to  her  unfortunate  queen, 
when, 

"  After  a  youth  by  woes  o'ercast, 
After  a  thousand  sorrows  past, 
The  lovely  Mary  once  again 
Set  foot  upon  her  native  plain." 

John  Knox  records  of  those  memorable  days  : 
"  The  very  face  of  heaven  did  manifestlie  speak 
what  comfort  was  brought  to  this  country  with 
hir — to  wit,  sorrow,  dolour,  darkness  and  all 
impiety  —  for  in  the  memorie  of  man  never  was 
seen  a  more  dolorous  face  of  the  heavens  than 
was  at  her  arryvall  ...  the  myst  was  so  thick  that 
skairse  micht  onie  man  espy  another;  and  the 
sun  was  not  seyn  to  shyne  two  days  befoir  nor 
two  days  after." 

We  could  not  see  Edina's  famous  palaces  and 
towers  because  of  the  haar,  that  damp,  chilling, 
drizzling,  dripping  fog  or  mist  which  the  east 
wind  summons  from  the  sea  j  but  we  knew  that 
they  were  there,  shrouded  in  the  heart  of  that 
opaque  mysterious  grayness,  and  that  before 
many  hours  our  eyes  would  feast  upon  their 
beauty. 


Penelopes  Progress  13 

Perhaps  it  was  the  weather,  but  I  could  think 
of  nothing  but  poor  Queen  Mary !  She  had 
drifted  into  my  imagination  with  the  haar,  so  that 
I  could  fancy  her  homesick  gaze  across  the  water 
as  she  murmured,  "  Adieu,  ma  chere  France  !  ye 
ne  vous  v  err  ay  jamais  plus  !" —  could  fancy  her 
saying  as  in  Allan  Cunningham's  verse  :  — 

"  The  sun  rises  bright  in  France, 
And  fair  sets  he  ; 

But  he  hath  tint  the  blithe  blink  he  had 
In  my  ain  countree." 

And  then  I  recalled  Mary's  first  good-night  in 
Edinburgh :  that  "  serenade  of  500  rascals  with 
vile  fiddles  and  rebecks  ;"  that  singing,  "in  bad 
accord,"  of  Protestant  psalms  by  the  wet  crowd 
beneath  the  palace  windows,  while  the  fires  on 
Arthur's  Seat  shot  flickering  gleams  of  welcome 
through  the  dreary  fog.  What  a  lullaby  for  poor 
Mary,  half  Frenchwoman  and  all  Papist ! 

It  is  but  just  to  remember  the  "  indefatigable 
and  undissuadable "  John  Knox's  statement, 
"  the  melody  lyked  her  weill  and  she  willed  the 
same  to  be  continewed  some  nightis  after."  For 
my  part,  however,  I  distrust  John  Knox's  musical 
feeling,  and  incline  sympathetically  to  the  Sieur 
de  Brantome's  account,  with  its  "  vile  fiddles " 
and  "  discordant  psalms,"  although  his  judgment 
was  doubtless  a  good  deal  depressed  by  what  he 
called  the  si  grand  brouillard  that  so  dampened 
the  spirits  of  Mary's  French  retinue. 


14  Penelope  s  Progress 

Ah  well,  I  was  obliged  to  remember,  in  order 
to  be  reasonably  happy  myself,  that  Mary  had  a 
gay  heart,  after  all ;  that  she  was  but  nineteen ; 
that,  though  already  a  widow,  she  did  not  mourn 
her  young  husband  as  one  who  could  not  be 
comforted ;  and  that  she  must  soon  have  been 
furnished  with  merrier  music  than  the  psalms, 
for  another  of  the  sour  comments  of  the  time  is, 
"  Our  Queen  weareth  the  dule  [weeds],  but  she 
can  dance  daily,  dule  and  all !  " 

These  were  my  thoughts  as  we  drove  through 
invisible  streets  in  the  Edinburgh  haar,  turned 
into  what  proved  next  day  to  be  a  Crescent,  and 
drew  up  to  an  invisible  house  with  a  visible  num- 
ber 22  gleaming  over  a  door  which  gaslight  trans- 
formed into  a  probability.  We  alighted,  and 
though  we  could  scarcely  see  the  driver's  out- 
stretched hand,  he  was  quite  able  to  discern  a 
half-crown,  and  demanded  three  shillings. 

The  noise  of  our  cab  had  brought  Mrs.  M 'Col- 
lop  to  the  door,  —  good  (or  at  least  pretty  good) 
Mrs.  M'Collop,  to  whose  apartments  we  had 
been  commended  by  English  friends  who  had 
never  occupied  them. 

Dreary  as  it  was  without,  all  was  comfortable 
within  doors,  and  a  cheery  (one-and-sixpenny) 
fire  crackled  in  the  grate.  Our  private  drawing- 
room  was  charmingly  furnished,  and  so  large 
that,  notwithstanding  the  presence  of  a  piano, 
two  sofas,  five  small  tables,  cabinets,  desks,  and 


Penelopes  Progress  15 

chairs,  —  not  forgetting  a  dainty  five-o'clock  tea 
equipage,  —  we  might  have  given  a  party  in  the 
remaining  space. 

"  If  this  is  a  typical  Scotch  lodging  I  like  it ; 
and  if  it  is  Scotch  hospitality  to  lay  the  cloth  and 
make  the  fire  before  it  is  asked  for,  then  I  call 
it  simply  Arabian  in  character ! "  and  Salemina 
drew  off  her  damp  gloves,  and  extended  her 
hands  to  the  blaze. 

"  And  is  n't  it  delightful  that  the  bill  does  n't 
come  in  for  a  whole  week  ?  "  asked  Francesca. 
"  We  have  only  our  English  experiences  on 
which  to  found  our  knowledge,  and  all  is  deli- 
cious mystery.  The  tea  may  be  a  present  from 
Mrs.  M'Collop,  and  the  sugar  may  not  be  an 
extra ;  the  fire  may  be  included  in  the  rent  of  the 
apartment,  and  the  piano  may  not  be  taken  away 
to-morrow  to  enhance  the  attractions  of  the  dining- 
room  floor."  (It  was  Francesca,  you  remember, 
who  had  "warstled"  with  the  itemized  accounts 
at  Smith's  Private  Hotel  in  London,  and  she 
who  was  always  obliged  to  turn  pounds,  shillings, 
and  pence  into  dollars  and  cents  before  she 
could  add  or  subtract.) 

"  Come  and  look  at  the  flowers  in  my  bed- 
room," I  called,  "  four  great  boxes  full !  Mr. 
Beresford  must  have  ordered  the  carnations,  be- 
cause he  always  does  ;  but  where  did  the  roses 
come  from,  I  wonder  ?  " 

I  rang  the  bell,  and  a  neat  white-aproned  maid 
appeared. 


Penelope  s  Progress 


"  Who  brought  these  flowers,  please  ?  " 

"  I  couldna  say,  mam." 

"  Thank  you  ;  will  you  be  good  enough  to  ask 
Mrs.  M'Collop  ? " 

In  a  moment  she  returned  with  the  message, 
"  There  will  be  a  letter  in  the  box,  mam." 

"  It  seems  to  me  the  letter  should  be  in  the 
box  now,  if  it  is  ever  to  be,"  I  thought,  and  I 
presently  drew  this  card  from  among  the  fragrant 
buds : — 

"  Lady  Baird  sends  these  Scotch  roses  as  a 
small  return  for  the  pleasure  she  has  received 
from  Miss  Hamilton's  pictures.  Lady  Baird  will 
give  herself  the  pleasure  of  calling  to-morrow; 
meantime  she  hopes  that  Miss  Hamilton  and 
her  party  will  dine  with  her  some  evening  this 
week." 

"  How  nice  !  "  exclaimed  Salemina. 

"The  celebrated  Miss  Hamilton's  undistin- 
guished party  presents  its  humble  compliments 
to  Lady  Baird,"  chanted  Francesca,  "  and  having 
no  engagements  whatever,  and  small  hope  of  any, 
will  dine  with  her  on  any  and  every  evening  she 
may  name.  Miss  Hamilton's  party  will  wear  its 
best  clothes,  polish  its  mental  jewels,  and  en- 
deavor in  every  possible  way  not  to  injure  the 
gifted  Miss  Hamilton's  reputation  among  the 
Scottish  nobility." 

I  wrote  a  hasty  note  of  thanks  to  Lady  Baird, 
and  rang  the  bell. 


Penelope  s  Progress 


"  Can  I  send  a  message,  please  ?  "  I  asked  the 
maid. 

"  I  couldna  say,  mam." 

"  Will  you  be  good  enough  to  ask  Mrs.  M'Col- 
lop,  please  ? " 

Interval ;  then  :  — 

"  The  Boots  will  tak'  it  at  seeven  o'clock, 
mam." 

"  Thank  you ;  is  Fotheringay  Crescent  near 
here  ? M 

"  I  couldna  say,  mam." 

"Thank  you  ;  what  is  your  name,  please  ?  " 

I  waited  in  well-grounded  anxiety,  for  I  had  no 
idea  that  she  knew  her  name,  or  that  if  she  had 
ever  heard  it,  she  could  say  it ;  but,  to  my  sur- 
prise, she  answered  almost  immediately,  "  Su- 
sanna Crum,  mam ! " 

What  a  joy  it  is  in  a  vexatious  world,  where 
things  "gang  aft  agley,"  to  find  something  abso- 
lutely right. 

If  I  had  devoted  years  to  the  subject,  having 
the  body  of  Susanna  Crum  before  my  eyes  every 
minute  of  the  time  for  inspiration,  Susanna  Crum 
is  what  I  should  have  named  that  maid.  Not 
a  vowel  could  be  added,  not  a  consonant  omitted. 
I  said  so  when  first  I  saw  her,  and  weeks  of 
intimate  acquaintance  only  deepened  my  rever- 
ence for  the  parental  genius  that  had  so  described 
her  to  the  world. 


Ill 


When  we  awoke  next  morning  the  sun  had 
forgotten  itself  and  was  shining  in  at  Mrs.  M'Col- 
lop's  back  windows. 

We  should  have  arisen  at  once  to  burn  sacri- 
fices and  offer  oblations,  but  we  had  seen  the 
sun  frequently  in  America,  and  had  no  idea 
(poor  fools  !)  that  it  was  anything  to  be  grateful 
for,  so  we  accepted  it,  almost  without  comment, 
as  one  of  the  perennial  providences  of  life. 

When  I  speak  of  Edinburgh  sunshine  I  do  not 
mean,  of  course,  any  such  burning,  whole-souled, 
ardent  warmth  of  beam  as  one  finds  in  coun- 
tries where  they  make  a  specialty  of  climate.  It 
is,  generally  speaking,  a  half-hearted,  uncertain 
ray,  as  pale  and  as  transitory  as  a  martyr's  smile  ; 
but  its  faintest  gleam,  or  its  most  puerile  attempt 
to  gleam,  is  admired  and  recorded  by  its  well- 
disciplined  constituency.  Not  only  that,  but  at 
the  first  timid  blink  of  the  sun  the  true  Scotsman 
remarks  smilingly,  "  I  think  now  we  shall  be 
having  settled  weather  !  "  It  is  a  pathetic  opti- 
mism, beautiful  but  quite  groundless,  and  leads 
one  to  believe  in  the  story  that  when  Father 
Noah  refused  to  take  Sandy  into  the  ark,  he  sat 
down   philosophically    outside,    saying,    with    a 


Penelope  s  Progress 


glance  at  the  clouds,  "  Aweel  !  the  day 's  jist 
aboot  the  ord'nar',  an'  I  wouldna  won'er  if  we 
saw  the  sun  afore  nicht ! " 

.But  what  loyal  son  of  Edina  cares  for  these 
transatlantic  gibes,  and  where  is  the  dweller 
within  her  royal  gates  who  fails  to  succumb  to 
the  sombre  beauty  of  that  old  gray  town  of  the 
North  ?  "  Gray  !  why,  it  is  gray,  or  gray  and  gold, 
or  gray  and  gold  and  blue,  or  gray  and  gold  and 
blue  and  green,  or  gray  and  gold  and  blue  and 
green  and  purple,  according  as  the  heaven  pleases 
and  you  choose  your  ground !  But  take  it  when 
it  is  most  sombrely  gray,  where  is  another  such 
gray  city  ? " 

So  says  one  of  her  lovers,  and  so  the  great 

army  of  lovers  would  say,  had  they  the  same  gift 

of  language ;  for 

"  Even  thus,  methinks,  a  city  reared  should  be,  .  .  . 
Yea,  an  imperial  city  that  might  hold 
Five  times  a  hundred  noble  towns  in  fee.  .  .  . 
Thus  should  her  towers  be  raised  ;  with  vicinage 
Of  clear  bold  hills,  that  curve  her  very  streets, 
As  if  to  indicate,  'mid  choicest  seats 
Of  Art,  abiding  Nature's  majesty." 

We  ate  a  hasty  breakfast  that  first  morning, 
and  prepared  to  go  out  for  a  walk  into  the  great 
unknown,  perhaps  the  most  pleasurable  sensa- 
tion in  the  world.  Francesca  was  ready  first, 
and,  having  mentioned  the  fact  several  times 
ostentatiously,  she  went  into  the  drawing-room 
to  wait  and  read  "  The   Scotsman."     When  we 


20  Penelope  s  Progress 

went  thither  a  few  minutes  later  we  found  that 
she  had  disappeared. 

"  She  is  below,  of  course,"  said  Salemina. 
"She  fancies  that  we  shall  feel  more  ashamed 
at  our  tardiness  if  we  find  her  sitting  on  the  hall 
bench  in  silent  martyrdom." 

There  was  no  one  in  the  hall,  however,  save 
Susanna,  who  inquired  if  we  would  see  the  cook 
before  going  out. 

"  We  have  no  time  now,  Susanna,"  I  remarked. 
"  We  are  anxious  to  have  a  walk  before  the  wea- 
ther changes  if  possible,  but  we  shall  be  out  for 
luncheon  and  in  for  dinner,  and  Mrs.  M'Collop 
may  give  us  anything  she  pleases.  Do  you  know 
where  Miss  Francesca  is  ?  " 

"  I  couldna  s—  " 

"  Certainly,  of  course  you  could  n't ;  but  I 
wonder  if  Mrs.  M'Collop  saw  her  ? " 

Mrs.  M'Collop  appeared  from  the  basement, 
and  vouchsafed  the  information  that  she  had  seen 
"  the  young  leddy  rinnin'  after  the  regiment." 

"  Running  after  the  regiment !  "  repeated  Sale- 
mina automatically.  "What  a  reversal  of  the 
laws  of  nature  !  Why,  in  Berlin,  it  was  always 
the  regiment  that  used  to  run  after  her  !  " 

We  learned  in  what  direction  the  soldiers  had 
gone,  and  pursuing  the  same  path  found  the  young 
lady  on  the  corner  of  a  street  near  by.  She  was 
quite  unabashed.  "  You  don't  know  what  you 
have  missed  !  "  she  said  excitedly.     "  Let  us  get 


Penelope  s  Progress  21 

into  this  tram,  and  possibly  we  can  head  them 
off  somewhere.  They  may  be  going  into  battle, 
and  if  so  my  heart's  blood  is  at  their  service.  It 
is  one  of  those  experiences  that  come  only 
once  in  a  lifetime.  There  were  pipes  and  there 
were  kilts  !  (I  did  n't  suppose  they  ever  really 
wore  them  outside  of  the  theatre  !)  When  you 
have  seen  the  kilts  swinging,  Salemina,  you  will 
never  be  the  same  woman  afterwards !  You 
never  expected  to  see  the  Olympian  gods  walk- 
ing, did  you  ?  Perhaps  you  thought  they  always 
sat  on  practicable  rocks  and  made  stiff  gestures 
from  the  elbow,  as  they  do  in  the  Wagner  operas  ? 
Well,  these  gods  walked,  if  you  can  call  the 
inspired  gait  a  walk !  If  there  is  a  single 
spinster  left  in  Scotland,  it  is  because  none  of 
these  ever  asked  her  to  marry  him.  Ah,  how 
grateful  I  ought  to  be  that  I  am  free  to  say  '  yes,' 
if  a  kilt  ever  asks  me  to  be  his  !  Poor  Penelope, 
yoked  to  your  commonplace  trousered  Beresford  ! 
(I  wish  the  tram  would  go  faster !)  You  must 
capture  one  of  them,  by  fair  means  or  foul,  Pe- 
nelope, and  Salemina  and  I  will  hold  him  down 
while  you  paint  him,  —  there  they  are,  they  are 
there  somewhere,  don't  you  hear  them  ?  " 

There  they  were  indeed,  filing  down  the  grassy 
slopes  of  the  Gardens,  swinging  across  one  of  the 
stone  bridges,  and  winding  up  the  Castle  Hill  to 
the  Esplanade  like  a  long,  glittering  snake ;  the 
streamers    of  their   Highland   bonnets   waving, 


22  Penelope  s  Progress 

their  arms  glistening  in  the  sun,  and  the  bagpipes 
playing  "  The  March  of  the  Cameron  Men."  The 
pipers  themselves  were  mercifully  hidden  from 
us  on  that  first  occasion,  and  it  was  well,  for  we 
could  never  have  borne  another  feather's  weight 
of  ecstasy. 

It  was  in  Princes  Street  that  we  had  alighted, 
—  named  thus  for  the  prince  who  afterwards 
became  George  IV.  —  and  I  hope  he  was,  and  is, 
properly  grateful.  It  ought  never  to  be  called 
a  street,  this  most  magnificent  of  terraces,  and 
the  world  has  cause  to  bless  that  interdict  of  the 
Court  of  Sessions  in  1774,  which  prevented  the 
Gradgrinds  of  the  day  from  erecting  buildings 
along  its  south  side,  —  a  sordid  scheme  that 
would  have  been  the  very  superfluity  of  naughti- 
ness. 

It  was  an  envious  Glasgow  body  who  said 
grudgingly,  as  he  came  out  of  Waverley  Station, 
and  gazed  along  its  splendid  length  for  the  first 
time,  "  Weel,  w?  a'  their  haverin\  it 's  but  half  a 
street,  onyway/"  —  which  always  reminded  me 
of  the  Western  farmer  who  came  from  his  native 
plains  to  the  beautiful  Berkshire  hills.  "  I  've 
always  heard  o'  this  scenery,"  he  said.  "  Blamed 
if  I  can  find  any  scenery ;  but  if  there  was,  nobody 
could  see  it,  there 's  so  much  high  ground  in  the 
way !  " 

To  think  that  not  so  much  more  than  a  hun- 
dred years  ago  Princes  Street  was  naught  but  a 


Penelope  s  Progress  23 

straight  country  road,  the  "  Lang   Dykes  "  and 
the  "  Lang  Gait,"  as  it  was  called. 

We  looked  down  over  the  grassy  chasm  that 
separates  the  New  from  the  Old  Town  ;  looked 
our  first  on  Arthur's  Seat,  that  crouching  lion  of 
a  mountain ;  saw  the  Corstorphine  hills,  and 
Calton  Heights,  and  Salisbury  Crags,  and  finally 
that  stupendous  bluff  of  rock  that  culminates 
so  majestically  in  Edinburgh  Castle.  There  is 
something  else  which,  like  Susanna  Crum's  name, 
is  absolutely  and  ideally  right !  Stevenson  calls 
it  one  of  the  most  satisfactory  crags  in  nature  — 
a  Bass  rock  upon  dry  land,  rooted  in  a  garden, 
shaken  by  passing  trains,  carrying  a  crown  of 
battlements  and  turrets,  and  describing  its  war- 
like shadow  over  the  liveliest  and  brightest 
thoroughfare  of  the  new  town.  It  dominates  the 
whole  countryside  from  water  and  land.  The 
men  who  would  have  the  courage  to  build  such  a 
castle  in  such  a  spot  are  all  dead  ;  all  dead,  and 
the  world  is  infinitely  more  comfortable  without 
them.  They  are  all  gone,  and  no  more  like 
unto  them  will  ever  be  born,  and  we  can  most  of 
us  count  upon  dying  safely  in  our  beds,  of  dis- 
eases bred  of  modern  civilization.  But  I  am  glad 
that  those  old  barbarians,  those  rudimentary  crea- 
tures working  their  way  up  into  the  divine  likeness, 
when  they  were  not  hanging,  drawing,  quartering, 
torturing,  and  chopping  their  neighbors,  and  using 
their  heads  in  conventional  patterns  on  the  tops 


24  Penelope  s  Progress 

of  gate-posts,  did  devote  their  leisure  intervals  to 
rearing  fortresses  like  this.  Edinburgh  Castle 
could  not  be  conceived,  much  less  built,  nowa- 
days, when  all  our  energy  is  consumed  in  better- 
ing the  condition  of  the  "  submerged  tenth  "  ! 
What  did  they  care  about  the  "masses,"  that 
"  regal  race  that  is  now  no  more,"  when  they  were 
hewing  those  blocks  of  rugged  rock  and  piling 
them  against  the  sky-line  on  the  top  of  that  great 
stone  mountain!  It  amuses  me  to  think  how 
much  more  picturesque  they  left  the  world,  and 
how  much  better  we  shall  leave  it ;  though  if  an 
artist  were  requested  to  distribute  individual 
awards  to  different  generations,  you  could  never 
persuade  him  to  give  first  prizes  to  the  centuries 
that  produced  steam  laundries,  trolleys,  X  rays, 
and  sanitary  plumbing. 

What  did  they  reck  of  Peace  Congresses  and 
bloodless  arbitrations  when  they  lighted  the  bea- 
con-fires, flaming  out  to  the  gudeman  and  his 
sons  ploughing  or  sowing  in  the  Lang  Dykes  the 
news  that  their  "ancient  enemies  of  England 
had  crossed  the  Tweed  "  ! 

I  am  the  most  peaceful  person  in  the  world, 
but  the  Castle  was  too  much  for  my  imagination. 
I  was  mounted  and  off  and  awray  from  the  first 
moment  I  gazed  upon  its  embattled  towers,  heard 
the  pipers  in  the  distance,  and  saw  the  Black 
Watch  swinging  up  the  green  steeps  where  the 
huge  fortress   "  holds   its  state."      The  modern 


Penelope  s  Progress  2$ 

world  had  vanished,  and  my  steed  was  galloping, 
galloping,  galloping  back  into  the  place-of-the- 
things-that-are-past,  traversing  centuries  at  every 
leap. 

"  To  arms  !  Let  every  banner  in  Scotland  float 
defiance  to  the  breeze  !  "  (So  I  heard  my  new- 
born imaginary  spirit  say  to  my  real  one.)  "  Yes, 
and  let  the  Deacon  Convener  unfurl  the  sacred 
Blue  Blanket,  under  which  every  liege  burgher  of 
the  kingdom  is  bound  to  answer  summons  !  The 
bale-fires  are  gleaming,  giving  alarm  to  Hume, 
Haddington,  Dunbar,  Dalkeith,  and  Eggerhope. 
Rise,  Stirling,  Fife,  and  the  North  !  All  Scot- 
land will  be  under  arms  in  two  hours.  One  bale- 
fire :  the  English  are  in  motion  !  Two  :  they  are 
advancing  !  Four  in  a  row :  they  are  of  great 
strength !  All  men  in  arms  west  of  Edinburgh 
muster  there !  All  eastward,  at  Haddington ! 
And  every  Englishman  caught  in  Scotland  is  law- 
fully the  prisoner  of  whoever  takes  him  !  "  (What 
am  I  saying  ?  I  love  Englishmen,  but  the  spell 
is  upon  me  !)  "  Come  on,  Macduff  !  "  (The  only 
suitable  and  familiar  challenge  my  warlike  tenant 
can  summon  at  the  moment.)  "  I  am  the  son  of 
a  Gael !  My  dagger  is  in  my  belt,  and  with  the 
guid  broadsword  at  my  side  I  can  with  one  blow 
cut  a  man  in  twain  !  My  bow  is  cut  from  the 
wood  of  the  yews  of  Glenure  ;  the  shaft  is  from 
the  wood  of  Lochetive,  the  feathers  from  the 
great  golden  eagles  of  Lochtreigside  !    My  arrow- 


26  Penelope  s  Progress 

head  was  made  by  the  smiths  of  the  race  of  Mac- 
phedran  !     Come  on,  Macduff !  " 

And  now  a  shopkeeper  has  filled  his  window 
with  royal  Stuart  tartans,  and  I  am  instantly  a 
Jacobite. 

"  The  Highland  clans  wi'  sword  in  hand, 

Frae  John  o'  Groat's  to  Airly, 
Hae  to  a  man  declar'd  to  stand 

Or  fa'  wi'  Royal  Charlie. 
Come  through  the  heather,  around  him  gather, 
Come  Ronald,  come  Donald,  come  a'  thegither, 
And  crown  your  rightfu',  lawfu'  king, 

For  wha  '11  be  king  but  Charlie  ?  " 

It  is  the  eve  of  the  battle  of  Prestonpans.  Is 
it  not  under  the  Rock  of  Dunsappie  on  yonder 
Arthur's  Seat  that  our  Highland  army  will  en- 
camp to-night  ?  At  dusk  the  prince  will  hold  a 
council  of  his  chiefs  and  nobles  (I  am  a  chief  and 
a  noble),  and  at  daybreak  we  shall  march  through 
the  old  hedgerows  and  woods  of  Duddingston, 
pipes  playing  and  colors  flying,  bonnie  Charlie  at 
the  head,  his  claymore  drawn  and  the  scabbard 
flung  away !     (I  mean  awa'  !) 

"  Then  here  's  a  health  to  Charlie's  cause, 
And  be  't  complete  an'  early  ; 
His  very  name  my  heart's  blood  warms 
To  arms  for  Royal  Charlie  I 

"  Come  through  the  heather,  around  him  gather, 
Come  Ronald,  come  Donald,  come  a'  thegither, 
And  crown  your  rightfu',  lawfu'  king, 
For  wha  '11  be  king  but  Charlie  ?  " 

I  hope  that  those  in  authority  will  never  attempt 


Penelope  s  Progress  27 

to  convene  a  peace  congress  in  Edinburgh,  lest 
the  influence  of  the  Castle  be  too  strong  for  the 
delegates.  They  could  not  resist  it  nor  turn  their 
backs  upon  it,  since,  unlike  other  ancient  for- 
tresses, it  is  but  a  stone's  throw  from  the  front 
windows  of  all  the  hotels.  They  might  mean 
never  so  well,  but  they  would  end  by  buying  dirk 
hat-pins  and  claymore  brooches  for  their  wives, 
their  daughters  would  all  run  after  the  kilted  regi- 
ment and  marry  as  many  of  the  pipers  as  asked 
them,  and  before  night  they  would  all  be  shouting 
with  the  noble  Fitz-Eustace, 

■  Where  ;s  the  coward  who  would  not  dare 
To  fight  for  such  a  land  ?  " 

While  I  was  rhapsodizing,  Salemina  and  Fran- 
cesca  were  shopping  in  the  Arcade,  buying  some 
of  the  cairn-gorms,  and  Tarn  O'Shanter  purses, 
and  models  of  Burns's  cottage,  and  copies  of 
"  Marmion  "  in  plaided  covers,  and  thistle  belt- 
buckles,  and  bluebell  penwipers,  with  which  we 
afterwards  inundated  our  native  land.  When  my 
warlike  mood  had  passed,  I  sat  down  upon  the 
steps  of  the  Scott  monument  and  watched  the 
passers-by  in  a  sort  of  waking  dream.  I  suppose 
they  were  the  usual  professors  and  doctors  and 
ministers  who  are  wont  to  walk  up  and  down  the 
Edinburgh  streets,  with  a  sprinkling  of  lairds  and 
leddies  of  high  degree  and  a  few  Americans  look- 
ing at  the  shop  windows  to  choose  their  clan- 
tartans  ;  but  for  me  they  did  not  exist.     In  their 


28  Penelope  s  Progress 

places  stalked  the  ghosts  of  kings  and  queens  and 
knights  and  nobles  :  Columba,  Abbot  of  Iona ; 
Queen  Margaret  and  Malcolm  —  she  the  sweetest 
saint  in  all  the  throng  ;  King  David  riding  to- 
wards Drumsheugh  forest  on  Holy  Rood-day,  with 
his  horns  and  hounds  and  huntsmen  following 
close  behind ;  Anne  of  Denmark  and  Jingling 
Geordie  j  Mary  Stuart  in  all  her  girlish  beauty, 
with  the  four  Maries  in  her  train ;  and  lurking  be- 
hind, Bothwell,  "  that  ower  sune  stepfaither," 
and  the  murdered  Rizzio  and  Darnley;  John 
Knox,  in  his  black  Geneva  cloak  j  Bonnie  Prince 
Charlie  and  Flora  Macdonald  ;  lovely  Annabella 
Drummond ;  Robert  the  Bruce  ;  George  Heriot 
with  a  banner  bearing  on  it  the  words  "  I  distrib- 
ute chearfully  ; "  James  I.  carrying  The  King's 
Quair ;  Oliver  Cromwell  ;  and  a  long  line  of  he- 
roes, martyrs,  humble  saints,  and  princely  knaves. 
Behind  them,  regardless  of  precedence,  came 
the  Ploughman  Poet  and  the  Ettrick  Shepherd, 
Boswell  and  Dr.  Johnson,  Dr.  John  Brown  and 
Thomas  Carlyle,  Lady  Nairne  and  Drummond  of 
Hawthornden,  Allan  Ramsay  and  Sir  Walter;  and 
is  it  not  a  proof  of  the  Wizard's  magic  art,  that 
side  by  side  with  the  wraiths  of  these  real  people 
walked,  or  seemed  to  walk,  the  Fair  Maid  of 
Perth,  Jeanie  Deans,  Meg  Merrilies,  Guy  Man- 
nering,  Ellen,  Marmion,  and  a  host  of  others  so 
sweetly  familiar  and  so  humanly  dear  that  the 
very  street-laddies  could  have  named  and  greeted 
them  as  they  passed  by  ? 


IV 

Life  at  Mrs.  M'Collop's  apartments  in  22, 
Breadalbane  Terrace  is  about  as  simple,  com- 
fortable, dignified,  and  delightful  as  it  well  can 
be. 

Mrs.  M'Collop  herself  is  neat,  thrifty,  precise, 
tolerably  genial,  and  "  verra  releegious." 

Her  partner,  who  is  also  the  cook,  is  a  person 
introduced  to  us  as  Miss  Diggity.  We  afterwards 
learned  that  this  is  spelled  Dalgety,  but  it  is  not 
considered  good  form,  in  Scotland,  to  pronounce 
the  names  of  persons  and  places  as  they  are  writ- 
ten. When,  therefore,  I  allude  to  the  cook,  which 
will  be  as  seldom  as  possible,  I  shall  speak  of  her 
as  Miss  Diggity-Dalgety,  so  that  I  shall  be  pre- 
senting her  correctly  both  to  the  eye  and  to  the 
ear,  and  giving  her  at  the  same  time  a  hyphen- 
ated name,  a  thing  which  is  a  secret  object  of 
aspiration  in  Great  Britain. 

In  selecting  our  own  letters  and  parcels  from 
the  common  stock  on  the  hall  table,  I  perceive 
that  most  of  our  fellow  lodgers  are  hyphenated 
ladies,  whose  visiting-cards  diffuse  the  intelli- 
gence that  in  their  single  persons  two  ancient 
families  and  fortunes  are  united.  On  the  ground 
floor    are    the   Misses    Hepburn-Sciennes   (pro- 


30  Penelope  s  Progress 

nounced  Hebburn-Sheens)  ;  on  the  floor  above 
us  are  Miss  Colquhoun  (Cohoon)  and  her  cousin 
Miss  Cockburn-Sinclair  (Coburn-Sinkler).  As 
soon  as  the  Hepburn  -Sciennes  depart,  Mrs. 
M'Collop  expects  Mrs.  Menzies  of  Kilconquhar, 
of  whom  we  shall  speak  as  Mrs.  Mingess  of  Kin- 
yukkar.  There  is  not  a  man  in  the  house  j  even 
the  Boots  is  a  girl,  so  that  22,  Breadalbane  Ter- 
race is  as  truly  a  castra  puellarum  as  was  ever  the 
Castle  of  Edinburgh  with  its  maiden  princesses 
in  the  olden  time. 

We  talked  with  Miss  Diggity-Dalgety  on  the 
evening  of  our  first  day  at  Mrs.  M'Collop's,  when 
she  came  up  to  know  our  commands.  As  Fran- 
cesca  and  Salemina  were  both  in  the  room,  I 
determined  to  be  as  Scotch  as  possible,  for  it  is 
Salemina's  proud  boast  that  she  is  taken  for  a 
native  of  every  country  she  visits. 

"  We  shall  not  be  entertaining  at  present,  Miss 
Diggity,"  I  said,  "  so  you  can  give  us  just  the 
ordinary  dishes,  —  no  doubt  you  are  accustomed 
to  them :  scones,  baps  or  bannocks  with  mar- 
malade, finnan-haddie  or  kippered  herrings  for 
breakfast ;  tea,  —  of  course  we  never  touch  coffee 
in  the  morning  "  (here  Francesca  started  with  sur- 
prise) ;  "  porridge,  and  we  like  them  well  boiled, 
please  "  (I  hope  she  noted  the  plural  pronoun  ; 
Salemina  did,  and  blanched  with  envy)  ;  "  minced 
collops  for  luncheon,  or  a  nice  little  black-faced 
chop;    Scotch  broth,  peas  brose  or  cockyleekie 


Penelopes  Progress  31 

soup,  at  dinner,  and  haggis  now  and  then,  with  a 
cold  shape  for  dessert.  That  is  about  the  sort  of 
thing  we  are  accustomed  to,  —  just  plain  Scotch 
living." 

I  was  impressing  Miss  Diggity-Dalgety,  —  I 
could  see  that  clearly ;  but  Francesca  spoiled  the 
effect  by  inquiring,  maliciously,  if  we  could  some- 
times have  a  howtowdy  wi'  drappit  eggs,  or  her 
favorite  dish,  wee  grumphie  wi'  neeps. 

Here  Salemina  was  obliged  to  poke  the  fire  in 
order  to  conceal  her  smiles,  and  the  cook  prob- 
ably suspected  that  Francesca  found  howtowdy 
in  the  Scotch  glossary  j  but  we  amused  each 
other  vastly,  and  that  is  our  principal  object  in 
life. 

Miss  Diggity-Dalgety's  forbears  must  have 
been  exposed  to  foreign  influences,  for  she  in- 
terlards her  culinary  conversation  with  French 
terms,  and  we  have  discovered  that  this  is  quite 
common.  A  "  jigget "  of  mutton  is  of  course  a 
gigot,  and  we  have  identified  an  "  ashet "  as  an 
assiette.  The  "  petticoat  tails  "  she  requested  me 
to  buy  at  the  confectioner's  were  somewhat  more 
puzzling,  but  when  they  were  finally  purchased 
by  Susanna  Crum  they  appeared  to  be  ordinary 
little  cakes  ;  perhaps,  therefore, petits  gasfe/s,  since 
gastel  is  an  old  form  of  gateau,  as  was  bel  for 
beau.  Susanna,  on  her  part,  speaks  of  the  ward- 
robe in  my  bedroom  as  an  "awmry."  It  cer- 
tainly contains   no  weapons,  so   cannot   be   an 


32  Penelope  s  Progress 

armory,  and  we  conjecture  that  her  word  must 
be  a  corruption  of  armoire. 

"That  was  a  remarkable  touch  about  the 
black-faced  chop,"  laughed  Salemina,  when  Miss 
Diggity-Dalgety  had  retired  ;  "  not  that  I  believe 
they  ever  say  it." 

"  I  am  sure  they  must,"  I  asserted  stoutly,  "  for 
I  passed  a  flesher's  on  my  way  home,  and  saw  a 
sign  with  '  Prime  Black-faced  Mutton '  printed  on 
it.  I  also  saw  '  Fed  Veal,'  but  I  forgot  to  ask  the 
cook  for  it." 

"We  ought  really  to  have  kept  house  in  Edin- 
burgh," observed  Francesca,  looking  up  from 
"  The  Scotsman."  "  One  can  get  a  '  self-con- 
tained residential  flat'  for  twenty  pounds  a 
month.  We  are  such  an  enthusiastic  trio  that 
a  self-contained  flat  would  be  everything  to  us ; 
and  if  it  were  not  fully  furnished,  here  is  a  firm 
that  wishes  to  sell  a  'composite  bed'  for  six 
pounds,  and  a  '  gent's  stuffed  easy '  for  five. 
Added  to  these  inducements  there  is  somebody 
who  advertises  that  parties  who  intend  '  displen- 
ishing '  at  the  Whit  Term  would  do  well  to  con- 
sult him,  as  he  makes  a  specialty  of  second- 
handed  furniture  and  '  cyclealities.'  What  are 
* cyclealities,'  Susanna?"  (She  had  just  come 
in  with  coals.) 

"  I  couldna  say,  mam." 

u  Thank  you  j  no,  you  need  not  ask  Mrs. 
M'Collop  ;  it  is  of  no  consequence." 


Penelope  s  Progress  33 

Susanna  Crum  is  a  most  estimable  young 
woman,  clean,  respectful,  willing,  capable,  and 
methodical,  but  as  a  Bureau  of  Information  she 
is  painfully  inadequate.  Barring  this  single  limi- 
tation she  seems  to  be  a  treasure-house  of  all  good 
practical  qualities ;  and  being  thus  clad  and  pano- 
plied in  virtue,  why  should  she  be  so  timid  and 
self-distrustful  ? 

She  wears  an  expression  which  can  mean  only 
one  of  two  things :  either  she  has  heard  of  the 
national  tomahawk  and  is  afraid  of  violence  on 
our  part,  or  else  her  mother  was  frightened  be- 
fore she  was  born.  This  applies  in  general  to 
her  walk  and  voice  and  manner,  but  is  it  fear 
that  prompts  her  eternal  "  I  couldna  say,"  or  is 
it  perchance  Scotch  caution  and  prudence  ?  Is 
she  afraid  of  projecting  her  personality  too  inde- 
cently far  ?  Is  it  the  influence  of  the  "  cate- 
cheesm  "  on  her  early  youth  ?  Is  it  the  indirect 
effect  of  heresy  trials  on  her  imagination  ?  Does 
she  remember  the  thumb-screw  of  former  genera- 
tions ?  At  all  events,  she  will  neither  affirm  nor 
deny,  and  I  am  putting  her  to  all  sorts  of  tests, 
hoping  to  discover  finally  whether  she  is  an  acci- 
dent, an  exaggeration,  or  a  type. 

Salemina  thinks  that  our  American  accent  may 
confuse  her.  Of  course  she  means  Francesca's 
and  mine,  for  she  has  none ;  although  we  have 
tempered  ours  so  much  for  the  sake  of  the  na- 
tives, that  we  can  scarcely  understand  each  other 


34  Penelope  s  Progress 

any  more.  As  for  Susanna's  own  accent,  she 
comes  from  the  heart  of  Aberdeenshire,  and 
her  intonation  is  beyond  my  power  to  repro- 
duce. 

We  naturally  wish  to  identify  all  the  national 
dishes ;  so,  "  Is  this  cockle  soup,  Susanna  ? "  I 
ask  her,  as  she  passes  me  the  plate  at  dinner. 

"I  couldna  say." 

"  This  vegetable  is  new  to  me,  Susanna ;  is  it 
perhaps  sea-kail  ? " 

"  I  canna  say,  mam." 

Then  finally,  in  despair,  as  she  handed  me  a 
boiled  potato  one  day,  I  fixed  my  searching 
Yankee  brown  eyes  on  her  blue-Presbyterian, 
non-committal  ones  and  asked,  "  What  is  this 
vegetable,  Susanna  ?  " 

In  an  instant  she  withdrew  herself,  her  soul, 
her  ego,  so  utterly  that  I  felt  myself  gazing  at 
an  inscrutable  stone  image,  as  she  replied,  "  I 
couldna  say,  mam." 

This  was  too  much !  Her  mother  may  have 
been  frightened,  very  badly  frightened,  but  this 
was  more  than  I  could  endure  without  protest. 
The  plain  boiled  potato  is  practically  universal. 
It  is  not  only  common  to  all  temperate  climates, 
but  it  has  permeated  all  classes  of  society.  I  am 
confident  that  the  plain  boiled  potato  has  been 
one  of  the  chief  constituents  in  the  building  up 
of  that  frame  in  which  Susanna  Crum  conceals 
her  opinions  and  emotions.     I  remarked,  there- 


Penelope  s  Progress  35 

fore,  as  an  apparent  afterthought,  "  Why,  it  is  a 
potato,  is  it  not,  Susanna  ? " 

What  do  you  think  she  replied,  when  thus 
hunted  into  a  corner,  pushed  against  a  wall, 
driven  to  the  very  confines  of  her  personal  and 
national  liberty  ?  She  subjected  the  potato  to 
a  second  careful  scrutiny,  and  answered,  "I 
wouldna  say  it 's  no  !  " 

Now  there  is  no  inherited  physical  terror  in 
this.  It  is  the  concentrated  essence  of  intelli- 
gent reserve,  caution,  and  obstinacy ;  it  is  a 
conscious  intellectual  hedging ;  it  is  a  dogged 
and  determined  attempt  to  build  up  barriers  of 
defense  between  the  questioner  and  the  ques- 
tionee :  it  must  be,  therefore,  the  offspring  of  the 
catechism  and  the  heresy  trial. 

Once  again,  after  establishing  an  equally  obvi- 
ous fact,  I  succeeded  in  wringing  from  her  the 
reluctant  admission,  "  It  depends,"  but  she  was 
so  shattered  by  the  bulk  and  force  of  this  outgo, 
so  fearful  that  in  some  way  she  had  imperiled 
her  life  or  reputation,  so  anxious  concerning  the 
effect  that  her  unwilling  testimony  might  have 
upon  unborn  generations,  that  she  was  of  no  real 
service  the  rest  of  the  day. 

I  wish  that  the  Lord  Advocate,  or  some  mod- 
ern counterpart  of  Braxfleld,  the  hanging  judge, 
would  summon  Susanna  Crum  as  a  witness  in 
an  important  case.  He  would  need  his  longest 
plummet  to  sound  the  depths  of  her  conscious- 
ness. 


36  Penelope  s  Progress 

I  have  had  no  legal  experience,  but  I  can  im- 
agine the  scene. 

"  Is  the  prisoner  your  father,  Susanna  Crum  ?  " 

"  I  couldna  say,  my  lord." 

"You  have  not  understood  the  question,  Su- 
sanna.    Is  the  prisoner  your  father  ?  " 

"  I  couldna  say,  my  lord." 

"  Come,  come,  my  girl !  you  must  answer  the 
questions  put  you  by  the  court.  You  have  been 
an  inmate  of  the  prisoner's  household  since  your 
earliest  consciousness.  He  provided  you  with 
food,  lodging,  and  clothing  during  your  infancy 
and  early  youth.  You  have  seen  him  on  annual 
visits  to  your  home,  and  watched  him  as  he  per- 
formed the  usual  parental  functions  for  your 
younger  brothers  and  sisters.  I  therefore  repeat, 
is  the  prisoner  your  father,  Susanna  Crum  ?  " 

"  I  wouldna  say  he  's  no,  my  lord." 

"  This  is  really  beyond  credence  !  What  do 
you  conceive  to  be  the  idea  involved  in  the  word 
■  father,'  Susanna  Crum  ?  " 

"  It  depends,  my  lord." 

And  this,  a  few  hundred  years  earlier,  would 
have  been  the  natural  and  effective  moment  for 
the  thumb-screws. 

I  do  not  wish  to  be  understood  as  defending 
these  uncomfortable  appliances.  They  would 
never  have  been  needed  to  elicit  information 
from  me,  for  I  should  have  spent  my  nights  in- 
venting matter  to  confess  in  the  daytime.     I  feel 


Penelope  s  Progress  37 

sure  that  I  should  have  poured  out  such  floods  of 
confessions  and  retractations  that  if  all  Scotland 
had  been  one  listening  ear  it  could  not  have 
heard  my  tale.  I  am  only  wondering  if,  in  the 
extracting  of  testimony  from  the  common  mind, 
the  thumb-screw  might  not  have  been  more  ne- 
cessary with  some  nations  than  with  others. 


Invitations  had  been  pouring  in  upon  us 
since  the  delivery  of  our  letters  of  introduction, 
and  it  was  now  the  evening  of  our  de'but  in 
Edinburgh  society.  Francesca  had  volunteered 
to  perform  the  task  of  leaving  cards,  ordering 
a  private  victoria  for  the  purpose,  and  arraying 
herself  in  purple  and  fine  linen. 

"Much  depends  upon  the  first  impression," 
she  had  said.  "  Miss  Hamilton's  '  party '  may 
not  be  gifted,  but  it  is  well  dressed.  My  hope  is 
that  some  of  our  future  hostesses  will  be  looking 
from  the  second-story  front  windows.  If  they 
are,  I  can  assure  them  in  advance  that  I  shall  be 
a  national  advertisement." 

It  is  needless  to  remark  that  as  it  began  to  rain 
heavily  as  she  was  leaving  the  house,  she  was 
obliged  to  send  back  the  open  carriage,  and  order, 
to  save  time,  one  of  the  public  cabs  from  the 
stand  in  the  Terrace. 

"  Would  you  mind  having  the  lamiter,  being 
first  in  line  ? "  asked  Susanna  of  Salemina,  who 
had  transmitted  the  command. 

When  Salemina  fails  to  understand  anything, 
the  world  is  kept  in  complete  ignorance,  —  least 
of  all  would  she  stoop  to  ask  a  humble  maid  ser- 


Penelope  s  Progress  39 

vant  to  translate  the  vernacular  of  the  country  j 
so  she  replied  affably,  "  Certainly,  Susanna,  that 
is  the  kind  we  always  prefer.  I  suppose  it  is 
covered  ?  " 

Francesca  did  not  notice,  until  her  coachman 
alighted  to  deliver  the  first  letter  and  cards,  that 
he  had  one  club  foot  and  one  wooden  leg  ;  it  was 
then  that  the  full  significance  of  "  lamiter  "  came  to 
her.  He  was  covered,  however,  as  Salemina  had 
supposed,  and  the  occurrence  gave  us  a  precious 
opportunity  of  charring  that  dungeon  of  learn- 
ing. He  was  tolerably  alert  and  vigorous,  too, 
although  he  certainly  did  not  impart  elegance  to 
a  vehicle,  and  he  knew  every  street  in  the  court 
end  of  Edinburgh,  and  every  close  and  wynd  in 
the  Old  Town.  On  this  our  first  meeting  with 
him,  he  faltered  only  when  Francesca  asked  him 
last  of  all  to  drive  to  "  Kildonan  House,  Helms- 
dale j "  supposing,  not  unnaturally,  that  it  was  as 
well  known  an  address  as  Morningside  House, 
Tipperlinn,  whence  she  had  just  come.  The  lami- 
ter had  never  heard  of  Kildonan  House  nor  of 
Helmsdale,  and  he  had  driven  in  the  streets  of 
Auld  Reekie  for  thirty  years.  None  of  the  driv- 
ers whom  he  consulted  could  supply  any  infor- 
mation ;  Susanna  Crum  couldna  say  that  she  had 
ever  heard  of  it,  nor  could  Mrs.  M'Collop  nor  Miss 
Diggity-Dalgety.  It  was  reserved  for  Lady  Baird 
to  explain  that  Helmsdale  was  two  hundred  and 
eighty  miles   north,  and   that   Kildonan    House 


40  Penelope  s  Progress 

was  ten  miles  from  the  Helmsdale  railway  sta- 
tion, so  that  the  poor  lamiter  would  have  had  a 
weary  drive  even  had  he  known  the  way.  The 
friends  who  had  given  us  letters  to  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Jameson-Inglis  (Jimmyson-Ingals)  must  have  ex- 
pected us  either  to  visit  John  o'  Groat's  on  the 
northern  border,  and  drop  in  on  Kildonan  House 
en  route,  or  to  send  our  note  of  introduction  by 
post  and  await  an  invitation  to  pass  the  summer. 
At  all  events,  the  anecdote  proved  very  pleasing 
to  our  Edinburgh  acquaintances.  I  hardly  know 
whether,  if  they  should  visit  America,  they  would 
enjoy  tales  of  their  own  stupidity  as  hugely  as 
they  did  the  tales  of  ours,  but  they  really  were 
very  appreciative  in  this  particular,  and  it  is  but 
justice  to  ourselves  to  say  that  we  gave  them 
every  opportunity  for  enjoyment. 

But  I  must  go  back  to  our  first  grand  dinner 
in  Scotland.  We  were  dressed  at  quarter  past 
seven,  when,  in  looking  at  the  invitation  again, 
we  discovered  that  the  dinner-hour  was  eight 
o'clock,  not  seven-thirty.  Susanna  did  not  hap- 
pen to  know  the  exact  or  approximate  distance 
to  Fotheringay  Crescent,  but  the  maiden  Boots 
affirmed  that  it  was  only  two  minutes'  drive,  so 
we  sat  down  in  front  of  the  fire  to  chat. 

It  was  Lady  Baird's  birthday  feast  to  which  we 
had  been  bidden,  and  we  had  done  our  best  to 
honor  the  occasion.  We  had  prepared  a  large 
bouquet    tied    with   the    Maclean   tartan   (Lady 


Petielopes  Progress  41 

Baird  is  a  Maclean),  and  had  printed  in  gold 
letters  on  one  of  the  ribbons,  "  Another  for  Hec- 
tor," the  battle-cry  of  the  clan.  We  each  wore 
a  sprig  of  holly,  because  it  "is  the  badge  of  the 
family,  while  I  added  a  girdle  and  shoulder-knot 
of  tartan  velvet  to  my  pale  green  gown,  and  bor- 
rowed Francesca's  emerald  necklace,  persuading 
her  that  she  was  too  young  to  wear  such  jewels 
in  the  old  country. 

Francesca  was  miserably  envious  that  she  had 
not  thought  of  tartans  first.  "  You  may  consider 
yourself  'gey  an'  fine,'  all  covered  over  with 
Scotch  plaid,  but  I  would  n't  be  so  '  kenspeckle' 
for  worlds  ! "  she  said,  using  expressions  bor- 
rowed from  Mrs.  M'Collop ;  "  and  as  for  disguis- 
ing your  nationality,  do  not  flatter  yourself  that 
you  look  like  anything  but  an  American.  I 
forgot  to  tell  you  the  conversation  I  overheard 
in  the  tram  this  morning,  between  a  mother  and 
daughter,  who  were  talking  about  us,  I  dare 
say.  '  Have  they  any  proper  frocks  for  so  large 
a  party,  Bella  ? '  asked  the  mother. 

" '  I  thought  I  explained  in  the  beginning, 
mamma,  that  they  are  Americans.' 

" '  Still,  you  know  they  are  only  traveling,  — 
just  passing  through,  as  it  were ;  they  may  not  be 
familiar  with  our  customs,  and  we  do  want  our 
party  to  be  a  smart  one.' 

" '  Wait  until  you  see  them,  mamma,  and  you 
will   probably  feel   like  hiding  your   diminished 


42  Penelope  s  Progress 

head  !  It  is  my  belief  that  if  an  American  lady- 
takes  a  half-hour  journey  in  a  tram  she  carries 
full  evening  dress  and  a  diamond  necklace,  in 
case  anything  should  happen  on  the  way.  I  am 
not  in  the  least  nervous  about  their  appearance. 
I  only  hope  that  they  will  not  be  too  exuberant ; 
American  girls  are  so  frightfully  vivacious  and 
informal,  I  always  feel  as  if  I  were  being  taken  by 
the  throat ! '  " 

"  A  picturesque,  though  rather  vigorous  ex- 
pression ;  however,  it  does  no  harm  to  be  perfectly 
dressed,"  said  Salemina  consciously,  putting  a 
steel  embroidered  slipper  on  the  fender  and 
settling  the  holly  in  the  silver  folds  of  her  gown  ; 
"  then  when  they  discover  that  we  are  all  well 
bred,  and  that  one  of  us  is  intelligent,  it  will  be 
the  more  credit  to  the  country  that  gave  us 
birth." 

"  Of  course  it  is  impossible  to  tell  what  country 
did  give  you  birth,"  retorted  Francesca,  "but that 
will  only  be  to  your  advantage  —  away  from 
home !  " 

Francesca  is  inflexibly,  almost  aggressively 
American,  but  Salemina  is  a  citizen  of  the  world. 
If  the  United  States  should  be  involved  in  a  war, 
I  am  confident  that  Salemina  would  be  in  front 
with  the  other  Gatling  guns,  for  in  that  case  a 
principle  would  be  at  stake  ;  but  in  all  lesser  mat- 
ters she  is  extremely  unprejudiced.  She  prefers 
German   music,    Italian    climate,    French    dress- 


Penelope  s  Progress  43 

makers,  English  tailors,  Japanese  manners,  and 
American  —  American  something,  —  I  have  for- 
gotten just  what ;  it  is  either  the  ice-cream  soda 
or  the  form  of  government,  —  I  can't  remember 
which. 

"  I  wonder  why  they  named  it  '  Fotheringay  ' 
Crescent,"  mused  Francesca.  "Some  associa- 
tion with  Mary  Stuart,  of  course.  Poor,  poor, 
pretty  lady !  A  free  queen  only  six  years,  and 
think  of  the  number  of  beds  she  slept  in,  and  the 
number  of  trees  she  planted;  we  have  already 
seen,  I  am  afraid  to  say  how  many.  When  did 
she  govern,  when  did  she  scheme,  above  all  when 
did  she  flirt,  with  all  this  racing  and  chasing  over 
the  country  ?  Mrs.  M'Collop  calls  Anne  of  Den- 
mark a  '  sad  scattercash '  and  Mary  an  '  awfu' 
gadabout,'  and  I  am  inclined  to  agree  with  her. 
By  the  way,  when  she  was  making  my  bed  this 
morning,  she  told  me  that  her  mother  claimed 
descent  from  the  Stewarts  of  Appin,  whoever  they 
may  be.  She  apologized  for  Queen  Mary's  de- 
fects as  if  she  were  a  distant  family  connection. 
If  so,  then  the  famous  Stuart  charm  has  been  lost 
somewhere,  for  Mrs.  M'Collop  certainly  possesses 
no  alluring  curves  of  temperament." 

"  I  am  going  to  select  some  distinguished  an- 
cestors this  very  minute,  before  I  go  to  my  first 
Edinburgh  dinner,"  said  I  decidedly.  "It  seems 
hard  that  ancestors  should  have  everything  to  do 
with  settling  our  nationality  and  our  position  in 


44  Penelope's  Progress 

life,  and  we  not  have  a  word  to  say.  How  nice  it 
would  be  to  select  one's  own  after  one  had  arrived 
at  years  of  discretion,  or  to  adopt  different  ones 
according  to  the  country  one  chanced  to  be  visit- 
ing !  I  am  going  to  do  it ;  it  is  unusual,  but  there 
must  be  a  pioneer  in  every  good  movement.  Let 
me  think  :  do  help  me,  Salemina !  I  am  a  Ham- 
ilton to  begin  with ;  I  might  be  descended  from 
the  logical  Sir  William  himself,  and  thus  become 
the  idol  of  the  university  set !  * 

"  He  died  only  about  thirty  years  ago,  and  you 
would  have  to  be  his  daughter :  that  would  never 
do,"  said  Salemina.  "  Why  don't  you  take 
Thomas  Hamilton,  Earl  of  Melrose  and  Had- 
dington ?  He  was  Secretary  of  State,  King's  Ad- 
vocate, Lord  President  of  the  Court  of  Sessions, 
and  all  sorts  of  fine  things.  He  was  the  one 
King  James  used  to  call  *  Tarn  o'  the  Cowgate.' " 

"  Perfectly  delightful !  I  don't  care  so  much 
about  his  other  titles,  but  '  Tam  o'  the  Cowgate  ' 
is  irresistible.  I  will  take  him.  He  was  my  — 
what  was  he  ? " 

"  He  was  at  least  your  great-great-great-great- 
grandfather ;  that  is  a  safe  distance.  Then  there  's 
that  famous  Jenny  Geddes,  who  flung  her  fauld- 
stule  at  the  Dean  in  St.  Giles's,  — she  was  a  Ham- 
ilton, too,  if  you  fancy  her  !  " 

"  Yes,  I  '11  take  her  with  pleasure,"  I  responded 
thankfully.  "  Of  course  I  don't  know  why  she 
flung  the  stool,  —  it  may  have  been  very  repre- 


Penelope  s  Progress  45 

hensible  ;  but  there  is  always  good  stuff  in  stool- 
flingers ;  it 's  the  sort  of  spirit  one  likes  to  inherit 
in  diluted  form.     Now  whom  will  you  take  ?  " 

"  I  have  n't  even  a  peg  on  which  to  hang  a 
Scottish  ancestor,"  said  Salemina  disconsolately. 

"  Oh,  nonsense  !  think  harder.  Anybody  will 
do  as  a  starting-point ;  only  you  must  be  honor- 
able and  really  show  relationship,  as  I  did  with 
Jenny  and  Tarn." 

"My  aunt  Mary-Emma  married  a  Lindsay," 
ventured  Salemina  hesitatingly. 

"  That  will  do,"  I  answered  delightedly. 

"  '  The  Gordons  gay  in  English  blude 
They  wat  their  hose  and  shoon ; 
The  Lindsays  flew  like  fire  aboot 
Till  a'  the  fray  was  dune.' 

You  can  play  that  you  are  one  of  the  famous 
1  licht  Lindsays,'  and  you  can  look  up  the  par- 
ticular ancestor  in  your  big  book.  Now,  Fran- 
cesca,  it 's  your  turn  ! " 

"I  am  American  to  the  backbone,"  she  de- 
clared, with  insufferable  dignity.  "I  do  not  de- 
sire any  foreign  ancestors." 

"  Francesca  !  "  I  expostulated.  "  Do  you  mean 
to  tell  me  that  you  can  dine  with  a  lineal  descend- 
ant of  Sir  Fitzroy  Donald  Maclean,  Baronet,  of 
Duart  and  Morven,  and  not  make  any  effort  to 
trace  your  genealogy  back  further  than  your  par- 
ents?" 


46  Penelope  s  Progress 

"  If  you  goad  me  to  desperation,"  she  an- 
swered, "  I  will  wear  an  American  flag  in  my 
hair,  declare  that  my  father  is  a  Red  Indian,  or  a 
pork-packer,  and  talk  about  the  superiority  of 
our  checking  system  and  hotels  all  the  evening. 
I  don't  want  to  go,  anyway.  It  is  sure  to  be  stiff 
and  ceremonious,  and  the  man  who  takes  me  in 
will  ask  me  the  population  of  Chicago  and  the 
amount  of  wheat  we  exported  last  year,  —  he  al- 
ways does." 

"  I  can't  see  why  he  should,"  said  I.  "  I  am 
sure  you  don't  look  as  if  you  knew." 

"My  looks  have  thus  far  proved  no  protec- 
tion," she  replied  sadly.  "  Salemina  is  so  flexi- 
ble, and  you  are  so  dramatic,  that  you  enter  into 
all  these  experiences  with  zest.  You  already 
more  than  half  believe  in  that  Tarn  o'  the  Cow- 
gate  story.  But  there  '11  be  nothing  for  me  in 
Edinburgh  society  ;  it  will  be  all  clergymen  "  — 

"  Ministers,"  interjected  Salemina. 

—  "  all  ministers  and  professors.  My  Redfern 
gown  will  be  unappreciated,  and  my  Worth  even- 
ing frocks  worse  than  wasted  !  " 

"  There  are  a  few  thousand  medical  students," 
I  said  encouragingly,  "  and  all  the  young  advo- 
cates, and  a  sprinkling  of  military  men,  —  they 
know  Worth  frocks." 

"And,"  continued  Salemina  bitingly,  "there 
will  always  be,  even  in  an  intellectual  city  like 
Edinburgh,  a  few  men  who  continue  to  escape  all 


Penelope  s  Progress  47 

the  developing  influences  about  them,  and  remain 
commonplace,  conventional  manikins,  devoted  to 
dancing  and  flirting.  Never  fear,  they  will  find 
you !  " 

This  sounds  harsh,  but  nobody  minds  Sale- 
mina,  least  of  all  Francesca,  who  well  knows  she 
is  the  apple  of  that  spinster's  eye.  But  at  this 
moment  Susanna  opens  the  door  (timorously,  as 
if  there  might  be  a  panther  behind  it)  and  an- 
nounces the  cab  (in  the  same  tone  in  which  she 
would  announce  the  beast)  ;  we  pick  up  our 
draperies,  and  are  whirled  off  by  the  lamiter  to 
dine  with  the  Scottish  nobility. 


VI 

It  was  the  Princess  Dashkoff  who  said,  in  the 
latter  part  of  the  eighteenth  century,  that  of  all 
the  societies  of  men  of  talent  she  had  met  with  in 
her  travels,  Edinburgh's  was  the  first  in  point  of 
abilities. 

One  might  make  the  same  remark  to-day,  per- 
haps, and  not  depart  widely  from  the  truth.  One 
does  not  find,  however,  as  many  noted  names  as 
are  associated  with  the  annals  of  the  Cape  and 
Poker  Clubs  or  the  Crochallan  Fencibles,  those 
famous  groups  of  famous  men  who  met  for  relax- 
ation (and  intoxication,  I  should  think)  at  the  old 
Isle  of  Man  Arms  or  in  Dawney's  Tavern  in 
the  Anchor  Close.  These  groups  included  such 
shining  lights  as  Robert  Fergusson  the  poet, 
and  Adam  Ferguson  the  historian  and  philoso- 
pher, Gavin  Wilson,  Sir  Henry  Raeburn,  David 
Hume,  Erskine,  Lords  Newton,  Gillies,  Mon- 
boddo,  Hailes,  Karnes,  Henry  Mackenzie,  and 
the  Ploughman  Poet  himself,  who  has  kept  alive 
the  memory  of  the  Crochallans  in  many  a  jovial 
verse  like  that  in  which  he  describes  Smellie,  the 
eccentric  philosopher  and  printer  :  — 

"  Shrewd  Willie  Smellie  to  Crochallan  came, 
The  old  cocked  hat,  the  grey  surtout  the  same, 
His  bristling  beard  just  rising  in  its  might ; 
'T  was  four  long  nights  and  days  to  shaving  night ; " 


Penelope  s  Progress  49 

or  in  the  characteristic  picture  of  William  Dun- 
bar, a  wit  of  the  time,  and  the  merriest  of  the 
Fencibles :  — 

"  As  I  cam  by  Crochallan 

I  cannily  keekit  ben ; 
Rattlin',  roarin'  Willie 

Was  sitting  at  yon  boord  en' ; 
Sitting  at  yon  boord  en', 

And  amang  guid  companie  ! 
Rattlin',  roarin'  Willie, 

Ye  're  welcome  hame  to  me ! " 

or  in  the  verses  on  Creech,  Burns's  publisher, 
who  left  Edinburgh  for  a  time  in  1789.  The 
"Willies,"  by  the  way,  seem  to  be  especially 
inspiring  to  the  Scottish  balladists. 

"  Oh,  Willie  was  a  witty  wight, 
And  had  o'  things  an  unco  slight ! 
Auld  Reekie  aye  he  keepit  tight 

And  trig  and  braw ; 
But  now  they  '11  busk  her  like  a  fright  — 
Willie  's  awa' ! " 

I  think  perhaps  the  gatherings  of  the  present 
time  are  neither  quite  as  gay  nor  quite  as  bril- 
liant as  those  of  Burns's  day,  when 

"  Willie  brewed  a  peck  o'  maut, 
An'  Rob  an'  Allan  cam  to  pree ; " 

but  the  ideal  standard  of  those  meetings  seems 
to  be  voiced  in  the  lines  :  — 

"  Wha  last  beside  his  chair  shall  fa', 
]He  is  the  king  amang  us  three  1 " 


50  Penelope  s  Progress 

As  they  sit  in  their  chairs  nowadays  to  the  very 
end  of  the  feast,  there  is  doubtless  joined  with 
modern  sobriety  a  soupgon  of  modern  dullness 
and  discretion. 

To  an  American  the  great  charm  of  Edinburgh 
is  its  leisurely  atmosphere  :  "  not  the  leisure  of  a 
village  arising  from  the  deficiency  of  ideas  and 
motives,  but  the  leisure  of  a  city  reposing  grandly 
on  tradition  and  history;  which  has  done  its 
work,  and  does  not  require  to  weave  its  own 
clothing,  to  dig  its  own  coals,  or  smelt  its  own 
iron." 

We  were  reminded  of  this  more  than  once,  and 
it  never  failed  to  depress  us  properly.  If  one  had 
ever  lived  in  Pittsburg,  Fall  River,  or  Kansas 
City,  I  should  think  it  would  be  almost  impos- 
sible to  maintain  self-respect  in  a  place  like 
Edinburgh,  where  the  citizens  "  are  released 
from  the  vulgarizing  dominion  of  the  hour." 
Whenever  one  of  Auld  Reekie's  great  men  took 
this  tone  with  me,  I  always  felt  as  though  I  were 
the  germ  in  a  half-hatched  egg,  and  he  were  an 
aged  and  lordly  cock  gazing  at  me  pityingly 
through  my  shell.  He,  lucky  creature,  had  lived 
through  all  the  struggles  which  I  was  to  undergo ; 
he,  indeed,  was  released  from  "the  vulgarizing 
dominion  of  the  hour ; "  but  I,  poor  thing,  must 
grow  and  grow,  and  keep  pecking  at  my  shell,  in 
order  to  achieve  existence. 

Sydney  Smith  says  in  one  of  his  letters,  "  Never 


Pe?ie lopes  Progress  51 

shall  I  forget  the  happy  days  passed  there  [in 
Edinburgh],  amidst  odious  smells,  barbarous 
sounds,  bad  suppers,  excellent  hearts,  and  the 
most  enlightened  and  cultivated  understand- 
ings." His  only  criticism  of  the  conversation  of 
that  day  (1 797-1802)  concerned  itself  with  the 
prevalence  of  that  form  of  Scotch  humor  which 
was  called  w/,  and  with  the  disputations  and 
dialectics.  We  were  more  fortunate  than  Sydney 
Smith,  because  Edinburgh  has  outgrown  its  odi- 
ous smells,  barbarous  sounds,  and  bad  suppers, 
and,  wonderful  to  relate,  has  kept  its  excellent 
hearts  and  its  enlightened  and  cultivated  under- 
standings. As  for  mingled  wut  and  dialectics, 
where  can  one  find  a  better  foundation  for  din- 
ner-table conversation  ? 

The  hospitable  board  itself  presents  no  strik- 
ing differences  from  our  own,  save  the  customs 
of  serving  sweets  in  soup-plates  with  dessert- 
spoons, of  a  smaller  number  of  forks  on  parade, 
of  the  invariable  fish-knife  at  each  plate,  of  the 
prevalent  "  savory  "  and  "  cold  shape,"  and  the 
unusual  grace  and  skill  with  which  the  hostess 
carves.  Even  at  very  large  dinners  one  occasion- 
ally sees  a  lady  of  high  degree  severing  the  joints 
of  chickens  and  birds  most  daintily,  while  her  lord 
looks  on  in  happy  idleness,  thinking,  perhaps,  how 
greatly  times  have  changed  for  the  better  since 
the  ages  of  strife  and  bloodshed,  when  Scottish 
nobles 


52  Penelope's  Progress 

"  Carved  at  the  meal  with  gloves  of  steel, 
And  drank  their  wine  through  helmets  barred." 

The  Scotch  butler  is  not  in  the  least  like  an 
English  one.  No  man  could  be  as  respectable 
as  he  looks,  not  even  an  elder  of  the  kirk,  whom 
he  resembles  closely.  He  hands  your  plate  as  if 
it  were  a  contribution-box,  and  in  his  moments  of 
ease,  when  he  stands  behind  the  "maister,"  I  am 
always  expecting  him  to  pronounce  a  benediction. 
The  English  butler,  when  he  wishes  to  avoid  the 
appearance  of  listening  to  the  conversation,  gazes 
with  level  eye  into  vacancy;  the  Scotch  butler 
looks  distinctly  heavenward,  as  if  he  were  brood- 
ing on  the  principle  of  coordinate  jurisdiction 
with  mutual  subordination.  It  would  be  impos- 
sible for  me  to  deny  the  key  of  the  wine-cellar  to 
a  being  so  steeped  in  sanctity,  but  it  has  been 
done,  I  am  told,  in  certain  rare  and  isolated 
cases. 

As  for  toilets,  the  men  dress  like  all  other  men 
(alas,  and  alas,  that  we  should  say  it,  for  we  were 
continually  hoping  for  a  kilt !),  though  there  seems 
to  be  no  survival  of  the  finical  Lord  Napier's 
spirit.  Perhaps  you  remember  that  Lord  and 
Lady  Napier  arrived  at  Castlemilk  in  Lanark- 
shire with  the  intention  of  staying  a  week,  but 
announced  next  morning  that  a  circumstance  had 
occurred  which  rendered  it  indispensable  to  re- 
turn without  delay  to  their  seat  in  Selkirkshire. 
This  was  the  only  explanation  given,  but  it  was 


Penelope  s  Progress  53 

afterwards  discovered  that  Lord  Napier's  valet 
had  committed  the  grievous  mistake  of  packing 
up  a  set  of  neck-cloths  which  did  not  correspond 
in  point  of  date  with  the  shirts  they  accompanied  ! 

The  ladies  of  the  "smart  set"  in  Edinburgh 
wear  French  fripperies  and  chiffons,  as  do  their 
sisters  everywhere,  but  the  other  women  of 
society  dress  a  trifle  more  staidly  than  their 
cousins  in  London,  Paris,  or  New  York.  The 
sobriety  of  taste  and  severity  of  style  that  char- 
acterize Scotswomen  may  be  due,  like  Susanna 
Crum's  dubieties,  to  the  haar,  to  the  shorter  cate- 
chism, or  perhaps  in  some  degree  to  the  pre- 
sence of  three  branches  of  the  Presbyterian 
church  among  them ;  the  society  that  bears  in 
its  bosom  three  separate  and  antagonistic  kinds 
of  Presbyterianism  at  the  same  time  must  have 
its  chilly  moments. 

In  Lord  Cockburn's  time  the  "  dames  of  high 
and  aristocratic  breed"  must  have  been  suffi- 
ciently awake  to  feminine  frivolities  to  be  both 
gorgeously  and  extravagantly  arrayed.  I  do  not 
know  in  all  literature  a  more  delicious  and  life- 
like word-portrait  than  Lord  Cockburn  gives  of 
Mrs.  Rochead,  the  Lady  of  Inverleith,  in  the 
Memorials.  It  is  quite  worthy  to  hang  beside  a 
Raeburn  canvas ;  one  can  scarce  say  more. 

"  Except  Mrs.  Siddons  in  some  of  her  displays 
of  magnificent  royalty,  nobody  could  sit  down 
like  the  Lady  of  Inverleith.     She  would  sail  like 


54  Penelope  s  Progress 

a  ship  from  Tarshish,  gorgeous  in  velvet  or  rus- 
tling silk,  done  up  in  all  the  accompaniments  of 
fans,  ear-rings  and  finger-rings,  falling  sleeves, 
scent-bottle,  embroidered  bag,  hoop,  and  train ; 
managing  all  this  seemingly  heavy  rigging  with 
as  much  ease  as  a  full-blown  swan  does  its  plu- 
mage. She  would  take  possession  of  the  centre  of 
a  large  sofa,  and  at  the  same  moment,  without 
the  slightest  visible  exertion,  cover  the  whole  of 
it  with  her  bravery,  the  graceful  folds  seeming  to 
lay  themselves  over  it,  like  summer  waves.  The 
descent  from  her  carriage,  too,  where  she  sat  like 
a  nautilus  in  its  shell,  was  a  display  which  no  one 
in  these  days  could  accomplish  or  even  fancy. 
The  mulberry-colored  coach,  apparently  not  too 
large  for  what  it  contained,  though  she  alone 
was  in  it;  the  handsome,  jolly  coachman  and 
his  splendid  hammer-cloth  loaded  with  lace ;  the 
two  respectful  liveried  footmen,  one  on  each  side 
of  the  richly  carpeted  step,  —  these  were  lost 
sight  of  amidst  the  slow  majesty  with  which  the 
Lady  of  Inverleith  came  down  and  touched  the 
earth/' 

My  right-hand  neighbor  at  Lady  Baird's  dinner 
was  surprised  at  my  quoting  Lord  Cockburn. 
One's  attendant  squires  here  always  seem  sur- 
prised when  one  knows  anything ;  but  they  are 
always  delighted,  too,  so  that  the  amazement  is 
less  trying.  True,  I  had  read  the  Memorials  only 
the  week  before,  and  had  never  heard  of  them 


Pe7ielopes  Progress  55 

previous  to  that  time  ;  but  that  detail,  accord- 
ing to  my  theories,  makes  no  real  difference. 
The  woman  who  knows  how  and  when  to  "  read 
up,"  who  reads  because  she  wants  to  be  in  sym- 
pathy with  a  new  environment  \  the  woman  who 
has  wit  and  perspective  enough  to  be  stimulated 
by  novel  conditions  and  kindled  by  fresh  influ- 
ences, who  is  susceptible  to  the  vibrations  of 
other  people's  history,  is  safe  to  be  fairly  intelli- 
gent and  extremely  agreeable,  if  only  she  is  suf- 
ficiently modest.  I  think  my  neighbor  found  me 
thoroughly  delightful  after  he  discovered  my  point 
of  view.  He  was  an  earl ;  and  it  always  takes 
an  earl  a  certain  length  of  time  to  understand 
me.  I  scarcely  know  why,  for  I  certainly  should 
not  think  it  courteous  to  interpose  any  real  bar- 
riers between  the  nobility  and  that  portion  of  the 
"  masses  "  represented  in  my  humble  person. 

It  seemed  to  me  at  first  that  the  earl  did  not 
apply  himself  to  the  study  of  my  national  pecu- 
liarities with  much  assiduity,  but  wasted  con- 
siderable time  in  gazing  at  Francesca,  who  was 
opposite.  She  is  certainly  very  handsome,  and  I 
never  saw  her  lovelier  than  at  that  dinner ;  her 
eyes  were  like  stars,  and  her  cheeks  and  lips  a 
splendid  crimson,  for  she  was  quarreling  with  her 
attendant  cavalier  about  the  relative  merits  of 
Scotland  and  America,  and  they  apparently  ceased 
to  speak  to  each  other  after  the  salad. 

When  the  earl  had  sufficiently  piqued  me  by 


56  Penelope  s  Progress 

his  devotion  to  his  dinner  and  his  glances  at 
Francesca,  I  began  a  systematic  attempt  to 
achieve  his  (transient)  subjugation.  Of  course 
I  am  ardently  attached  to  Willie  Beresford  and 
prefer  him  to  any  earl  in  Britain,  but  one's  self- 
respect  demands  something  in  the  way  of  food. 
I  could  see  Salemina  at  the  far  end  of  the  table 
radiant  with  success,  the  W.  S.  at  her  side  bend- 
ing ever  and  anon  to  catch  the  (artificial)  pearls 
of  thought  that  dropped  from  her  lips.  "  Miss 
Hamilton  appears  simple "  (I  thought  I  heard 
her  say)  j  "  but  in  reality  she  is  as  deep  as  the 
Currie  Brig ! "  Now  where  did  she  get  that 
allusion  ?  And  again,  when  the  W.  S.  asked 
her  whither  she  was  going  when  she  left  Edin- 
burgh, "  I  hardly  know,"  she  replied  pensively. 
"  I  am  waiting  for  the  shade  of  Montrose  to  di- 
rect me,  as  the  Viscount  Dundee  said  to  your 
Duke  of  Gordon."  The  entranced  Scotsman 
little  knew  that  she  had  perfected  this  style  of 
conversation  by  long  experience  with  the  Q.  C.'s 
of  England.  Talk  about  my  being  as  deep  as  the 
Currie  Brig  (whatever  it  may  be)  ;  Salemina  is 
deeper  than  the  Atlantic  Ocean  !  I  shall  take 
pains  to  inform  her  Writer  to  the  Signet,  after 
dinner,  that  she  eats  sugar  on  her  porridge  every 
morning ;  that  will  show  him  her  nationality  con- 
clusively. 

The  earl  took  the  greatest  interest  in  my  new 
ancestors,  and  approved  thoroughly  of  my  choice. 


Penelope  s  Progress     *  57 

He  thinks  I  must  have  been  named  for  Lady- 
Penelope  Belhaven,  who  lived  in  Leven  Lodge, 
one  of  the  country  villas  of  the  Earls  of  Leven, 
from  whom  he  himself  is  descended.  "  Does 
that  make  us  relatives  ?  "  I  asked.  "  Relatives, 
most  assuredly,"  he  replied,  "  but  not  too  near 
to  destroy  the  charm  of  friendship." 

He  thought  it  a  great  deal  nicer  to  select  one's 
own  forbears  than  to  allow  them  all  the  responsi- 
bility, and  said  it  would  save  a  world  of  trouble 
if  the  method  could  be  universally  adopted.  He 
added  that  he  should  be  glad  to  part  with  a  good 
many  of  his,  but  doubted  whether  I  would  ac- 
cept them,  as  they  were  "  rather  a  scratch  lot." 
(I  use  his  own  language,  which  I  thought  delight- 
fully easy  for  a  belted  earl.)  He  was  charmed 
with  the  story  of  Francesca  and  the  lamiter,  and 
offered  to  drive  me  to  Kildonan  House,  Helms- 
dale, on  the  first  fine  day.  I  told  him  he  was 
quite  safe  in  making  the  proposition,  for  we  had 
already  had  the  fine  day,  and  we  understood  that 
the  climate  had  exhausted  itself  and  retired  for 
the  season. 

The  gentleman  on  my  right,  a  distinguished 
Dean  of  the  Thistle,  gave  me  a  few  moments' 
discomfort  by  telling  me  that  the  old  custom  of 
"  rounds "  of  toasts  still  prevailed  at  Lady 
Baird's  on  formal  occasions,  and  that  before  the 
ladies  retired  every  one  would  be  called  upon  for 
appropriate  "  sentiments." 


58  Penelope  s  Progress 

"What  sort  of  sentiments?"  I  inquired,  quite 
overcome  with  terror. 

"  Oh,  epigrammatic  sentences  expressive  of 
moral  feelings  or  virtues,"  replied  my  neighbor 
easily.  "  They  are  not  quite  as  formal  and 
hackneyed  now  as  they  were  in  the  olden  time, 
when  some  of  the  favorite  toasts  were  *  May  the 
pleasure  of  the  evening  bear  the  reflections  of 
the  morning ! '  '  May  the  friends  of  our  youth 
be  the  companions  of  our  old  age  ! '  '  May  the 
honest  heart  never  feel  distress  ! '  '  May  the 
hand  of  charity  wipe  the  eye  of  sorrow  ! '  " 

"  I  can  never  do  it  in  the  world  !  "  I  ejaculated. 
i(  Oh,  one  ought  never,  never  to  leave  one's  own 
country !  A  light-minded  and  cynical  English 
gentleman  told  me  that  I  should  frequently  be 
called  upon  to  read  hymns  and  recite  verses 
of  Scripture  at  family  dinners  in  Edinburgh  and 
I  hope  I  am  always  prepared  to  do  that ;  but 
nobody  warned  me  that  I  should  have  to  evolve 
epigrammatic  sentiments  on  the  spur  of  the 
moment." 

My  confusion  was  so  evident  that  the  good 
dean  relented  and  confessed  that  he  was  impos- 
ing upon  my  ignorance.  He  made  me  laugh 
heartily  at  the  story  of  a  poor  dominie  at  Arn- 
dilly.  He  was  called  upon  in  his  turn,  at  a  large 
party,  and  having  nothing  to  aid  him  in  an 
exercise  to  which  he  was  new  save  the  example 
of  his  predecessors,  lifted  his  glass  after  much 


Penelope  s  Progress  59 

writhing  and  groaning  and  gave,  "  The  reflection 
of  the  moon  in  the  cavvm  bosom  of  the  lake  1 " 

At  this  moment  Lady  Baird  glanced  at  me, 
and  we  all  rose  to  go  into  the  drawing-room  j  but 
on  the  way  from  my  chair  to  the  door,  whither 
the  earl  escorted  me,  he  said  gallantly,  "  I  sup- 
pose the  men  in  your  country  do  not  take  cham- 
pagne at  dinner  ?  I  cannot  fancy  their  craving 
it  when  dining  beside  an  American  woman  ! " 

That  was  charming,  though  he  did  pay  my 
country  a  compliment  at  my  expense.  One  likes, 
of  course,  to  have  the  type  recognized  as  fine  ; 
at  the  same  time  his  remark  would  have  been 
more  flattering  if  it  had  been  less  sweeping. 

When  I  remember  that  he  offered  me  his  ances- 
tors, asked  me  to  drive  two  hundred  and  eighty 
miles,  and  likened  me  to  champagne,  I  feel  that, 
with  my  heart  already  occupied  and  my  hand 
promised,  I  could  hardly  have  accomplished 
more  in  the  course  of  a  single  dinner-hour. 


VII 

Francesca's  experiences  were  not  so  fortu- 
nate ;  indeed,  I  have  never  seen  her  more  out  of 
sorts  than  she  was  during  our  long  chat  over  the 
fire,  after  our  return  to  Breadalbane  Terrace. 

"  How  did  you  get  on  with  your  delightful 
minister  ?  "  inquired  Salemina  of  the  young  lady, 
as  she  flung  her  unoffending  wrap  over  the  back 
of  a  chair.  "  He  was  quite  the  handsomest  man 
in  the  room  ;  who  is  he  ?  " 

"  He  is  the  Reverend  Ronald  Macdonald,  and 
the  most  disagreeable,  condescending,  ill-tem- 
pered prig  I  ever  met !  " 

"  Why,  Francesca  !  "  I  exclaimed.  "  Lady 
Baird  speaks  of  him  as  her  favorite  nephew,  and 
says  he  is  full  of  charm." 

"  He  is  just  as  full  of  charm  as  he  was  when  I 
met  him,"  returned  the  girl  nonchalantly  ;  "  that 
is,  he  parted  with  none  of  it  this  evening.  He 
was  incorrigibly  stiff  and  rude,  and  oh !  so 
Scotch !  I  believe  if  one  punctured  him  with  a 
hat-pin,  oatmeal  would  fly  into  the  air  !  " 

"  Doubtless  you  acquainted  him,  early  in  the 
evening,  with  the  immeasurable  advantages  of 
our  sleeping-car  system,  the  superiority  of  our 
fast-running  elevators,  and  the  height  of  our 
buildings  ?  "  observed  Salemina. 


Penelope  s  Progress  61 

"  I  mentioned  them,"  Francesca  answered 
evasively. 

"  You  naturally  inveighed  against  the  Scotch 
climate  ? " 

"Oh,  I  alluded  to  it;  but  only  when  he  said 
that  our  hot  summers  must  be  insufferable." 

"  I  suppose  you  repeated  the  remark  you  made 
at  luncheon,  that  the  ladies  you  had  seen  in 
Princes  Street  were  excessively  plain  ? " 

"  Yes,  I  did  !  "  she  replied  hotly ;  "  but  that 
was  because  he  said  that  American  girls  gener- 
ally looked  bloodless  and  frail.  He  asked  if  it 
were  really  true  that  they  ate  chalk  and  slate 
pencils.  Was  n't  that  unendurable  ?  I  answered 
that  those  were  the  chief  solid  articles  of  food, 
but  that  after  their  complexions  were  established, 
so  to  speak,  their  parents  often  allowed  them 
pickles  and  native  claret  to  vary  the  diet." 

"  What  did  he  say  to  that  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Oh,  he  said,  \  Quite  so,  quite  so ; '  that  was 
his  invariable  response  to  all  my  witticisms.  Then 
when  I  told  him  casually  that  the  shops  looked 
very  small  and  dark  and  stuffy  here,  and  that  there 
were  not  as  many  tartans  and  plaids  in  the  win- 
dows as  we  had  expected,  he  remarked  that  as  to 
the  latter  point,  the  American  season  had  not 
opened  yet !  Presently  he  asserted  that  no  royal 
city  in  Europe  could  boast  ten  centuries  of  such 
glorious  and  stirring  history  as  Edinburgh.  I 
said  it  did  not  appear  to  be  stirring  much  at  pre- 


62  Penelope  s  Progress 

sent,  and  that  everything  in  Scotland  seemed  a 
little  slow  to  an  American  ;  that  he  could  have 
no  idea  of  push  or  enterprise  until  he  visited 
a  city  like  Chicago.  He  retorted  that,  happily, 
Edinburgh  was  peculiarly  free  from  the  taint  of 
the  ledger  and  the  counting-house  ;  that  it  was 
Weimar  without  a  Goethe,  Boston  without  its 
twang  !  " 

"  Incredible  !  "  cried  Salemina,  deeply  wounded 
in  her  local  pride.  "  He  never  could  have  said 
1  twang '  unless  you  had  tried  him  beyond  mea- 
sure !  " 

"  I  dare  say  I  did ;  he  is  easily  tried,"  returned 
Francesca.  "  I  asked  him,  sarcastically,  if  he 
had  ever  been  in  Boston.  *  No,'  he  said,  '  it  is 
not  necessary  to  go  there  !  And  while  we  are 
discussing  these  matters,'  he  went  on,  '  how  is 
your  American  dyspepsia  these  days,  — have  you 
decided  what  is  the  cause  of  it  ? ' 

"  '  Yes,  we  have,'  said  I,  as  quick  as  a  flash  ; 
'we  have  always  taken  in  more  foreigners  than 
we  could  assimilate  ! '  I  wanted  to  tell  him  that 
one  Scotsman  of  his  type  would  upset  the  na- 
tional digestion  anywhere,  but  I  restrained  my- 
self." 

"I  am  glad  you  did  restrain  yourself  —  once," 
exclaimed  Salemina.  "What  a  tactful  person 
the  Reverend  Ronald  must  be,  if  you  have  re- 
ported him  faithfully  !  Why  did  n't  you  give 
him  up,  and  turn  to  your  other  neighbor  ? " 


Penelope  s  Progress  63 

"  I  did,  as  soon  as  I  could  with  courtesy ;  but 
the  man  on  my  left  was  the  type  that  always 
haunts  me  at  dinners ;  if  the  hostess  has  n't  one 
on  her  visiting-list,  she  imports  one  for  the  occa- 
sion. He  asked  me  at  once  of  what  material  the 
Brooklyn  Bridge  is  made.  I  told  him  I  really 
did  n't  know.  Why  should  I  ?  I  seldom  go  over 
it.  Then  he  asked  me  whether  it  was  a  suspen- 
sion bridge  or  a  cantilever.  Of  course  I  did  n't 
know ;  I  am  not  an  engineer." 

"  You  are  so  tactlessly,  needlessly  candid,"  I 
expostulated.  "  Why  did  n't  you  say  boldly  that 
the  Brooklyn  Bridge  is  a  wooden  cantilever,  with 
gutta-percha  braces  ?  He  did  n't  know,  or  he 
would  n't  have  asked  you.  He  could  n't  find  out 
until  he  reached  home,  and  you  would  never  have 
seen  him  again ;  and  if  you  had,  and  he  had 
taunted  you,  you  could  have  laughed  vivaciously 
and  said  you  were  chaffing.  That  is  my  method, 
and  it  is  the  only  way  to  preserve  life  in  a  for- 
eign country.  Even  my  earl,  who  did  not  thirst 
for  information  (fortunately),  asked  me  the  popu- 
lation of  the  Yellowstone  Park,  and  I  simply  told 
him  three  hundred  thousand,  at  a  venture." 

"  That  would  never  have  satisfied  my  neigh- 
bor," said  Francesca.  "  Finding  me  in  such  a 
lamentable  state  of  ignorance,  he  explained  the 
principle  of  his  own  stupid  Forth  Bridge  to  me. 
When  I  said  I  understood  perfectly,  just  to  get 
into   shallower  water,  where  we  would  n't  need 


64  Penelope  s  Progress 

any  bridge,  the  Reverend  Ronald  joined  in  the 
conversation,  and  asked  me  to  repeat  the  explana- 
tion to  him.  Naturally  I  could  n't,  and  he  knew 
that  I  could  n't  when  he  asked  me,  so  the  bridge 
man  (I  don't  know  his  name,  and  don't  care  to 
know  it)  drew  a  diagram  of  the  national  idol  on 
his  dinner-card  and  gave  a  dull  and  elaborate 
lecture  upon  it.  Here  is  the  card,  and  now  that 
three  hours  have  intervened  I  cannot  tell  which 
way  to  turn  the  drawing  so  as  to  make  the  bridge 
right  side  up  ;  if  there  is  anything  puzzling  in 
the  world,  it  is  these  architectural  plans  and  dia- 
grams. I  am  going  to  pin  it  to  the  wall  and  ask 
the  Reverend  Ronald  which  way  it  goes." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  he  will  call  upon  us  ?  "  we 
cried  in  concert. 

"  He  asked  if  he  might  come  and  continue  our 
*  stimulating '  conversation,  and  as  Lady  Baird 
was  standing  by  I  could  hardly  say  no.  I  am 
sure  of  one  thing :  that  before  I  finish  with  him  I 
will  widen  his  horizon  so  that  he  will  be  able  to 
see  something  beside  Scotland  and  his  little  in- 
significant Fifeshire  parish !  I  told  him  our 
country  parishes  in  America  were  ten  times  as 
large  as  his.  He  said  he  had  heard  that  they 
covered  a  good  deal  of  territory,  and  that  the 
ministers'  salaries  were  sometimes  paid  in  pork 
and  potatoes.  That  shows  you  the  style  of  his 
retorts  !  " 

"  I  really  cannot  decide  which  of  you  was  the 


Penelope  s  Progress  65 

more  disagreeable,"  said  Salemina  ;  "  if  he  calls, 
I  shall  not  remain  in  the  room." 

"  I  would  n't  gratify  him  by  staying  out,"  re- 
torted Francesca.  "  He  is  extremely  good  for 
the  circulation ;  I  think  I  was  never  so  warm  in 
my  life  as  when  I  talked  with  him ;  as  physical 
exercise  he  is  equal  to  bicycling.  The  bridge 
man  is  coming  to  call,  too.  I  gave  him  a  diagram 
of  Breadalbane  Terrace,  and  a  plan  of  the  hall 
and  staircase,  on  my  dinner-card.  He  was  dis- 
tinctly ungrateful ;  in  fact,  he  remarked  that  he 
had  been  born  in  this  very  house,  but  would  not 
trust  himself  to  find  his  way  upstairs  with  my 
plan  as  a  guide.  He  also  said  the  American 
vocabulary  was  vastly  amusing,  so  picturesque, 
unstudied,  and  fresh." 

"  That  was  nice,  surely,"  I  interpolated. 

"You  know  perfectly  well  that  it  was  an  in- 
sult." 

"  Francesca  is  very  like  the  young  man," 
laughed  Salemina,  "who,  whenever  he  engaged 
in  controversy,  seemed  to  take  off  his  flesh  and 
sit  in  his  nerves." 

"  I  'm  not  supersensitive,"  replied  Francesca, 
"  but  when  one's  vocabulary  is  called  picturesque 
by  a  Britisher,  one  always  knows  he  is  thinking  of 
cowboys  and  broncos.  However,  I  shifted  the 
weight  into  the  other  scale  by  answering,  'Thank 
you.  And  your  phraseology  is  just  as  unusual  to 
us.'     '  Indeed  ? '  he  said  with  some  surprise.     '  I 


66  Penelope  s  Progress 

supposed  our  method  of  expression  very  sedate  and 
uneventful.'  '  Not  at  all,'  I  returned,  '  when  you 
say,  as  you  did  a  moment  ago,  that  you  never  eat 
potato  to  your  fish.'  ■  But  I  do  not,'  he  urged 
obtusely.  '  Very  likely,'  I  argued,  '  but  the  fact 
is  not  of  so  much  importance  as  the  preposition. 
Now  I  eat  potato  with  my  fish.'  '  You  make  a 
mistake,'  he  said,  and  we  both  laughed  in  spite  of 
ourselves,  while  he  murmured, '  eating  potato  with 
fish,  —  how  extraordinary.'  Well,  the  bridge  man 
may  not  add  perceptibly  to  the  gayety  of  the 
nations,  but  he  is  better  than  the  Reverend  Ron- 
ald. I  forgot  to  say  that  when  I  chanced  to  be 
speaking  of  doughnuts,  that  '  unconquer'd  Scot ' 
asked  me  if  a  doughnut  resembled  a  peanut ! 
Can  you  conceive  such  ignorance  ?  " 

"  I  think  you  were  not  only  aggressively  Amer- 
ican, but  painfully  provincial,"  said  Salemina, 
with  some  warmth.  "  Why  in  the  world  should 
you  drag  doughnuts  into  a  dinner-table  conversa- 
tion in  Edinburgh  ?  Why  not  select  topics  of 
universal  interest  ? " 

"  Like  the  Currie  Brig  or  the  shade  of  Mont- 
rose," I  murmured  slyly. 

"  To  one  who  has  ever  eaten  a  doughnut,  the 
subject  is  of  transcendent  interest ;  and  as  for  one 
who  has  not  —  well,  he  should  be  made  to  feel 
his  limitations,"  replied  Francesca,  with  a  yawn. 
"  Come,  let  us  forget  our  troubles  in  sleep  ;  it  is 
after  midnight." 


Penelope  s  Progress  67 

About  half  an  hour  later  she  came  to  my  bed- 
side, her  dark  hair  hanging  over  her  white  gown, 
her  eyes  still  bright. 

"  Penelope,"  she  said  softly,  "  I  did  not  dare 
tell  Salemina,  and  I  should  not  confess  it  to  you 
save  that  I  am  afraid  Lady  Baird  will  'complain  of 
me ;  but  I  was  dreadfully  rude  to  the  Reverend 
Ronald  !  I  could  n't  help  it ;  he  roused  my  worst 
passions.  It  all  began  with  his  saying  he  thought 
international  marriages  presented  even  more  dif- 
ficulties to  the  imagination  than  the  other  kind. 
/  had  n't  said  anything  about  marriages  nor 
thought  anything  about  marriages  of  any  sort,  but 
I  told  him  instantly  I  considered  that  every  inter- 
national marriage  involved  two  national  suicides. 
He  said  that  he  should  n't  have  put  it  quite  so 
forcibly,  but  that  he  had  n't  given  much  thought 
to  the  subject.  I  said  that  /had,  and  I  thought 
we  had  gone  on  long  enough  filling  the  coffers  of 
the  British  nobility  with  American  gold." 

"  Fra?ices ! "  I  interrupted.  "  Don't  tell  me 
that  you  made  that  vulgar,  cheap  newspaper 
assertion  ! " 

"  I  did,"  she  replied  stoutly,  "  and  at  the  mo- 
ment I  only  wished  I  could  make  it  stronger.  If 
there  had  been  anything  cheaper  or  more  vulgar, 
I  should  have  said  it,  but  of  course  there  is  n't. 
Then  he  remarked  that  the  British  nobility 
merited  and  needed  all  the  support  it  could  get 
in  these  hard   times,  and  asked  if  we  had   not 


68  Penelope  s  Progress 

cherished  some  intention  in  the  States,  lately,  of 
bestowing  it  in  greenbacks  instead  of  gold  !  I 
threw  all  manners  to  the  winds  after  that  and 
told  him  that  there  were  no  husbands  in  the  world 
like  American  men,  and  that  foreigners  never 
seemed  to  have  any  proper  consideration  for  wo- 
men. Now,  were  my  remarks  any  worse  than  his, 
after  all,  and  what  shall  I  do  about  it,  anyway  ?  " 

"You  should  go  to  bed  first,"  I  murmured 
sleepily ;  "  and  if  you  ever  have  an  opportunity 
to  make  amends,  which  I  doubt,  you  should 
devote  yourself  to  showing  the  Reverend  Ronald 
the  breadth  of  your  own  horizon  instead  of  trying 
so  hard  to  broaden  his.  As  you  are  extremely 
pretty,  you  may  possibly  succeed ;  man  is  human, 
and  I  dare  say  in  a  month  you  will  be  advising 
him  to  love  somebody  more  worthy  than  yourself. 
(He  could  easily  do  it!)  Now  don't  kiss  me 
again,  for  I  am  displeased  with  you  ;  I  hate  in- 
ternational bickering ! " 

"  So  do  I,"  agreed  Francesca  virtuously,  as  she 
plaited  her  hair,  "  and  there  is  no  spectacle  so 
abhorrent  to  every  sense  as  a  narrow-minded 
man  who  cannot  see  anything  outside  of  his  own 
country.  But  he  is  awfully  good-looking,  —  I 
will  say  that  for  him ;  and  if  you  don't  explain 
me  to  Lady  Baird,  I  will  write  to  Mr.  Beresford 
about  the  earl.  There  was  no  bickering  there  ; 
it  was  looking  at  you  two  that  made  us  think  of 
international  marriages." 


Penelope  s  Progress  69 

"  It  must  have  suggested  to  you  that  speech 
about  filling  the  coffers  of  the  British  nobility," 
I  replied  sarcastically,  "  inasmuch  as  the  earl  has 
twenty  thousand  pounds  a  year,  probably,  and  I 
could  barely  buy  two  gold  hairpins  to  pin  on  the 
coronet.  There,  do  go  away  and  leave  me  in 
peace  ! " 

"  Good-night  again,  then,"  she  said,  as  she 
rose  reluctantly  from  the  foot  of  the  bed.  "I 
doubt  if  I  can  sleep  for  thinking  what  a  pity  it  is 
that  such  an  egotistic,  bumptious,  pugnacious, 
prejudiced,  insular,  bigoted  person  should  be  so 
handsome  !  And  who  wants  to  marry  him,  any- 
way, that  he  should  be  so  distressed  about  inter- 
national alliances  ?  One  would  think  that  all 
female  America  was  sighing  to  lead  him  to  the 
altar  !  " 


VIII 

Two  or  three  days  ago  we  noted  an  unusual 
though  subdued  air  of  excitement  at  22,  Breadal- 
bane  Terrace,  where  for  a  week  we  had  been  the 
sole  lodgers.  Mrs.  Menzies,  whom  we  call 
Mingess,  has  returned  to  Kilconquhar,  which 
she  calls  Kinyukkar  j  Miss  Cockburn-Sinclair 
has  purchased  her  wedding  outfit  and  gone  back 
to  Inverness,  where  she  will  be  greeted  as 
Coburn-Sinkler ;  the  Hepburn-Sciennes  will  be 
leaving  to-morrow,  just  as  we  have  learned  to 
pronounce  their  names ;  and  the  sound  of  the 
scrubbing-brush  is  heard  in  the  land.  In  corners 
where  all  was  clean  and  spotless  before,  Mrs. 
M'Collop  is  digging  with  the  broom,  and  the 
maiden  Boots  is  following  her  with  a  damp  cloth. 
The  stair  carpets  are  hanging  on  lines  in  the  back 
garden,  and  Susanna,  with  her  cap  rakishly  on  one 
side,  is  always  to  be  seen  polishing  the  stair  rods. 
Whenever  we  traverse  the  halls  we  are  obliged  to 
leap  over  pails  of  suds,  and  Miss  Diggity-Dalgety 
has  given  us  two  dinners  which  bore  a  curious 
resemblance  to  washing-day  repasts  in  suburban 
America. 

"  Is  it  spring  house-cleaning  ?  "  I  ask  Mistress 
M'Collop. 


Penelope  s  Progress  71 

"  Na,  na,"  she  replies  hurriedly ;  "  it 's  the 
meenisters." 

On  the  19th  of  May  we  are  a  maiden  castle 
no  longer.  Black  coats  and  hats  ring  at  the 
bell,  and  pass  in  and  out  of  the  different  apart- 
ments. The  hall  table  is  sprinkled  with  letters, 
visiting-cards,  and  programmes  which  seem  to 
have  had  the  alphabet  shaken  out  upon  them, 
for  they  bear  the  names  of  professors,  doctors, 
reverends,  and  very  reverends,  and  fairly  bristle 
with  A.  M.'s,  M.  A.'s,  A.  B.'s,  D.  D.'s,  and 
LL.  D.'s.  The  voice  of  family  prayer  is  lifted  up 
from  the  dining-room  floor,  and  Paraphrases  and 
hymns  float  down  the  stairs  from  above.  Their 
Graces  the  Lord  High  Commissioner  and  the 
Marchioness  of  Heatherdale  will  arrive  to-day  at 
Holyrood  Palace,  there  to  reside  during  the  sit- 
tings of  the  General  Assembly  of  the  Church  of 
Scotland,  and  to-morrow  the  Royal  Standard 
will  be  hoisted  at  Edinburgh  Castle  from  reveille 
to  retreat.  His  Grace  will  hold  a  levee  at  eleven. 
Directly  His  Grace  leaves  the  palace  after  the 
levee,  the  guard  of  honor  will  proceed  by  the 
Canongate  to  receive  him  on  his  arrival  at  St. 
Giles'  Church,  and  will  then  proceed  to  Assembly 
Hall  to  receive  him  on  his  arrival  there.  The 
Sixth  Inniskilling  Dragoons  and  the  First  Bat- 
talion Royal  Scots  will  be  in  attendance,  and 
there  will  be  unicorns,  carricks,  pursuivants,  her- 
alds, mace-bearers,  ushers,  and  pages,  together 


*J2  Penelope  s  Progress 

with  the  Purse-bearer,  and  the  Lyon  King-of- 
Arms,  and  the  national  anthem,  and  the  royal 
salute;  for  the  palace  has  awakened  and  is 
"  mimicking  its  past." 

"Should  the  weather  be  wet  the  troops  will  be 
cloaked  at  the  discretion  of  the  commanding  officers" 
They  print  this  instruction  as  a  matter  of  form, 
and  of  course  every  man  has  his  mackintosh 
ready.  The  only  hope  lies  in  the  fact  that  this 
is  a  national  function,  and  "  Queen's  weather  " 
is  a  possibility.  The  one  personage  for  whom 
the  Scottish  climate  will  occasionally  relax  is 
Her  Majesty  Queen  Victoria,  who  for  sixty  years 
has  exerted  a  benign  influence  on  British  skies 
and  at  least  secured  sunshine  on  great  parade 
days.     Such  women  are  all  too  few ! 

In  this  wise  enters  His  Grace  the  Lord  High 
Commissioner  to  open  the  General  Assembly  of 
the  Church  of  Scotland ;  and  on  the  same  day 
there  arrives  by  the  railway  (but  traveling  first 
class)  the  Moderator  of  the  Church  of  Scotland, 
Free,  to  convene  its  separate  Supreme  Courts  in 
Edinburgh.  He  will  have  no  Union  Jacks,  Royal 
Standards,  Dragoons,  bands,  or  pipers;  he  will 
bear  his  own  purse  and  stay  at  a  hotel ;  but  when 
the  final  procession  of  all  comes,  he  will  probably 
march  beside  His  Grace  the  Lord  High  Commis- 
sioner, and  they  will  talk  together,  not  of  dead- 
and-gone  kingdoms,  but  of  the  one  at  hand, 
where  there  are  no  more  divisions  in  the  ranks, 


Penelope  s  Progress  73 

and  where  all  the  soldiers  are  simply  "  king's 
men,"  marching  to  victory  under  the  inspiration 
of  a  common  watchword. 

It  is  a  matter  of  regret  to  us  that  the  U.  P.'s, 
the  third  branch  of  Scottish  Presbyterianism, 
could  not  be  holding  an  Assembly  during  this 
same  week,  so  that  we  might  the  more  easily 
decide  in  which  flock  we  really  belong.  22, 
Breadalbane  Terrace  now  represents  all  shades 
of  religious  opinion  within  the  bounds  of  Pres- 
byterianism. We  have  an  Elder,  a  Professor  of 
Biblical  Criticism,  a  Majesty's  Chaplain,  and  even 
an  ex-Moderator  under  our  roof,  and  they  are 
equally  divided  between  the  Free  and  the  Estab- 
lished bodies. 

Mrs.  M'Collop  herself  is  a  pillar  of  the  Free 
Kirk,  but  she  has  no  prejudice  in  lodgers,  and 
says  so  long  as  she  "mak's  her  rent  she  doesna 
care  aboot  their  releegious  principles."  Miss 
Diggity  -  Dalgety  is  the  sole  representative  of 
United  Presbyterianism  in  the  household,  and 
she  is  somewhat  gloomy  in  Assembly  time.  To 
belong  to  a  dissenting  body,  and  yet  to  cook 
early  and  late  for  the  purpose  of  fattening  one's 
religious  rivals,  is  doubtless  trying  to  the  temper  \ 
and  then  she  asserts  that  "meenisters  are  aye 
tume  [empty]." 

"  You  must  put  away  your  Scottish  ballads  and 
histories  now,  Salemina,  and  keep  your  Concord- 
ance and  your  umbrella  constantly  at  hand." 


74  Penelope  s  Progress 

This  I  said  as  we  stood  on  George  IV.  Bridge 
and  saw  the  ministers  glooming  down  from  the 
Mound  in  a  dense  Assembly  fog.  As  the  pre- 
sence of  any  considerable  number  of  priests  on 
an  ocean  steamer  is  supposed  to  bring  rough 
weather,  so  the  addition  of  a  few  hundred  par- 
sons to  the  population  of  Edinburgh  is  believed 
to  induce  rain,  —  or  perhaps  I  should  say,  more 
rain. 

Of  course,  when  one  is  in  perfect  bodily  health 
one  can  more  readily  resist  the  infection  of  dis- 
ease. Similarly  if  Scottish  skies  were  not  ready 
and  longing  to  pour  out  rain,  were  not  ignobly 
weak  in  holding  it  back,  they  would  not  be  so 
susceptible  to  the  depressing  influences  of  visiting 
ministers.  This  is  Francesca's  theory  as  stated 
to  the  Reverend  Ronald,  who  was  holding  an  um- 
brella over  her  ungrateful  head  at  the  time  ;  and 
she  went  on  to  boast  of  a  convention  she  once 
attended  in  San  Francisco,  where  twenty-six 
thousand  Christian  Endeavorers  were  unable  to 
dim  the  California  sunshine,  though  they  stayed 
ten  days. 

"  Our  first  duty,  both  to  ourselves  and  to  the 
community,"  I  continued  to  Salemina,  "  is  to 
learn  how  there  can  be  three  distinct  kinds  of 
proper  Presbyterianism.  Perhaps  it  would  be  a 
graceful  act  on  our  part  if  we  should  each  es- 
pouse a  different  kind  j  then  there  would  be  no 
feeling  among  our  Edinburgh  friends.   And  again, 


Penelope  s  Progress  75 

what  is  this  ■  union '  of  which  we  hear  mur- 
murs ?  Is  it  religious  or  political  ?  Is  it  an  echo 
of  the  1707  Union  you  explained  to  us  last  week, 
or  is  it  a  new  one  ?  What  is  Disestablishment  ? 
What  is  Disruption  ?  Are  they  the  same  thing  ? 
What  is  the  Sustentation  Fund  ?  What  was  the 
Non-Intrusion  Party  ?  What  was  the  Dundas 
Despotism  ?  What  is  the  argument  at  present 
going  on  about  taking  the  Shorter  Catechism  out 
of  the  schools  ?  What  is  the  Shorter  Catechism, 
anyway,  —  or  at  least,  what  have  they  left  out  of 
the  Longer  Catechism  to  make  it  shorter,  —  and 
is  the  length  of  the  Catechism  one  of  the  points 
of  difference  ?  Then  when  we  have  looked  up 
Chalmers  and  Candlish,  we  can  ask  the  ex-Mod- 
erator and  the  Professor  of  Biblical  Criticism  to 
tea  j  separately,  of  course,  lest  there  should  be 
ecclesiastical  quarrels." 

Salemina  and  Francesca  both  incline  to  the 
Established  Church,  I  lean  instinctively  toward 
the  Free ;  but  that  does  not  mean  that  we  have 
any  knowledge  of  the  differences  that  separate 
them.  Salemina  is  a  conservative  in  all  things  ; 
she  loves  law,  order,  historic  associations,  old 
customs  ;  and  so  when  there  is  a  regularly  estab- 
lished national  church,  —  or,  for  that  matter,  a 
regularly  established  anything,  —  she  gravitates 
to  it  by  the  law  of  her  being.  Francesca's  reli- 
gious convictions,  when  she  is  away  from  her  own 
minister  and  native  land,  are  inclined  to  be  flex- 


y6  Pefielopes  Progress 

ible.  The  church  that  enters  Edinburgh  with 
a  marquis  and  a  marchioness  representing  the 
Crown,  the  church  that  opens  its  Assembly  with 
splendid  processions  and  dignified  pageants,  the 
church  that  dispenses  generous  hospitality  from 
Holyrood  Palace,  —  above  all,  the  church  that 
escorts  its  Lord  High  Commissioner  from  place 
to  place  with  bands  and  pipers,  —  that  is  the 
church  to  which  she  pledges  her  constant  pre- 
sence and  enthusiastic  support. 

As  for  me,  I  believe  I  am  a  born  protestant,  or 
"  come-outer,"  as  they  used  to  call  dissenters  in 
the  early  days  of  New  England.  I  have  not  yet 
had  time  to  study  the  question,  but  as  I  lack  all 
knowledge  of  the  other  two  branches  of  Presby- 
terianism,  I  am  enabled  to  say  unhesitatingly 
that  I  belong  to  the  Free  Kirk.  To  begin  with, 
the  very  word  "  free  "  has  a  fascination  for  the 
citizen  of  a  republic ;  and  then  my  theological 
training  was  begun  this  morning  by  a  gifted 
young  minister  of  Edinburgh  whom  we  call  the 
Friar,  because  the  first  time  we  saw  him  in  his 
gown  and  bands  (the  little  spot  of  sheer  white- 
ness beneath  the  chin,  that  lends  such  added 
spirituality  to  a  spiritual  face)  we  fancied  that  he 
looked  like  some  pale  brother  of  the  Church  in 
the  olden  time.  His  pallor,  in  a  land  of  rosy 
redness  and  milky  whiteness  ;  his  smooth,  fair 
hair,  which  in  the  light  from  the  stained-glass 
window  above  the  pulpit  looked  reddish  gold ; 


Penelope  s  Progress  jj 

the  Southern  heat  of  passionate  conviction  that 
colored  his  slow  Northern  speech ;  the  remote- 
ness of  his  personality ;  the  weariness  of  his 
deep-set  eyes,  that  bespoke  such  fastings  and 
vigils  as  he  probably  never  practiced,  —  all  this 
led  to  our  choice  of  the  name. 

As  we  walked  toward  St.  Andrew's  Church  and 
Tanfield  Hall,  where  he  insisted  on  taking  me  to 
get  the  "  proper  historical  background,"  he  told 
me  about  the  great  Disruption  movement.  He 
was  extremely  eloquent,  —  so  eloquent  that  the 
image  of  Willie  Beresford  tottered  continually  on 
its  throne,  and  I  found  not  the  slightest  difficulty 
in  giving  an  unswerving  allegiance  to  the  prin- 
ciples presented  by  such  an  orator. 

We  went  first  to  St.  Andrew's,  where  the  Gen- 
eral Assembly  met  in  1843,  and  where  the  famous 
exodus  of  the  Free  Protesting  Church  took  place, 
—  one  of  the  most  important  events  in  the  mod- 
ern history  of  the  United  Kingdom. 

The  movement  was  promoted  by  the  great  Dr. 
Chalmers  and  his  party,  mainly  to  abolish  the 
patronage  of  livings,  then  in  the  hands  of  certain 
heritors  or  patrons,  who  might  appoint  any  minis- 
ter they  wished,  without  consulting  the  congrega- 
tion. Needless  to  say,  as  a  free-born  American 
citizen,  and  never  having  had  a  heritor  in  the 
family,  my  blood  easily  boiled  at  the  recital  of 
such  tyranny.  In  1834  the  Church  had  passed  a 
law  of  its  own,  it  seems,  ordaining  that  no  pre- 


y8  Penelope  s  Progress 

sentee  to  a  parish  should  be  admitted,  if  opposed 
by  the  majority  of  the  male  communicants.  That 
would  have  been  well  enough  could  the  State 
have  been  made  to  agree,  though  I  should  have 
gone  further,  personally,  and  allowed  the  female 
communicants  to  have  some  voice  in  the  matter. 
The  Friar  took  me  into  a  particularly  chilly 
historic  corner,  and,  leaning  against  a  damp 
stone  pillar,  painted  the  scene  in  St.  Andrew's 
when  the  Assembly  met  in  the  presence  of  a 
great  body  of  spectators,  while  a  vast  throng 
gathered  without,  breathlessly  awaiting  the  re- 
sult. No  one  believed  that  any  large  number  of 
ministers  would  relinquish  livings  and  stipends 
and  cast  their  bread  upon  the  waters  for  what 
many  thought  a  "  fantastic  principle."  Yet  when 
the  Moderator  left  his  place,  after  reading  a  for- 
mal protest  signed  by  one  hundred  and  twenty 
ministers  and  seventy-two  elders,  he  was  fol- 
lowed first  by  Dr.  Chalmers,  and  then  by  four 
hundred  and  seventy  men,  who  marched  in  a 
body  to  Tanfield^Hall,  where  they  formed  them- 
selves into  the  General  Assembly  of  the  Free 
Church  of  Scotland.  When  Lord  Jeffrey  was 
told  of  it  an  hour  later,  he  exclaimed,  "Thank 
God  for  Scotland !  There  is  not  another  coun- 
try on  earth  where  such  a  deed  could  be  done  !  " 
And  the  Friar  reminded  me  proudly  of  Macau- 
lay's  saying  that  the  Scots  had  made  sacrifices 
for  the  sake  of  religious  opinion  for  which  there 


Penelope  s  Progress  79 

was  no  parallel  in  the  annals  of  England.  On 
the  next  Sunday  after  these  remarkable  scenes 
in  Edinburgh  there  were  heart-breaking  fare- 
wells, so  the  Friar  said,  in  many  village  par- 
ishes, when  the  minister,  in  dismissing  his  con- 
gregation, told  them  that  he  had  ceased  to  belong 
to  the  Established  Church  and  would  neither 
preach  nor  pray  in  that  pulpit  again ;  that  he 
had  joined  the  Free  Protesting  Church  of  Scot- 
land, and,  God  willing,  would  speak  the  next  Sab- 
bath morning  at  the  manse  door  to  as  many  as 
cared  to  follow  him.  M  What  affecting  leave-tak- 
ings there  must  have  been  !  "  the  Friar  exclaimed. 
"  When  my  grandfather  left  his  church  that  May 
morning,  only  fifteen  members  remained  behind, 
and  he  could  hear  the  more  courageous  say  to 
the  timid  ones,  'Tak'  your  Bible  an'  come  awa' 
mon  ! '  Was  not  all  this  a  splendid  testimony  to 
the  power  of  principle  and  the  sacred  demands 
of  conscience  ?  "  I  said  "  Yea  "  most  heartily,  for 
the  spirit  of  Jenny  Geddes  stirred  within  me  that 
morning,  and  under  the  spell  of  the  Friar's  kin- 
dling eye  and  eloquent  voice  I  positively  gloried 
in  the  valiant  achievements  of  the  Free  Church. 
It  would  always  be  easier  for  a  woman  to  say 
"  Yea  "  than  "  Nay  "  to  the  Friar.  When  he  left 
me  in  Breadalbane  Terrace  I  was  at  heart  a 
member  of  his  congregation  in  good  (and  irreg- 
ular) standing,  ready  to  teach  in  his  Sunday- 
school,  sing  in  his  choir,  visit  his  aged  and  sick 


80  Penelope  s  Progress 

poor,  and  especially  to  stand  between  him  and 
a  too  admiring  feminine  constituency. 

When  I  entered  the  drawing-room,  I  found 
that  Salemina  had  just  enjoyed  an  hour's  con- 
versation with  the  ex-Moderator  of  the  opposite 
church  wing. 

"  Oh,  my  dear,"  she  sighed,  "  you  have  missed 
such  a  treat !  You  have  no  conception  of  these 
Scottish  ministers  of  the  Establishment,  —  such 
culture,  such  courtliness  of  manner,  such  schol- 
arship, such  spirituality,  such  wise  benignity  of 
opinion !  I  asked  the  doctor  to  explain  the  Dis- 
ruption movement  to  me,  and  he  was  most  inter- 
esting and  lucid,  and  most  affecting,  too,  when 
he  described  the  misunderstandings  and  miscon- 
ceptions that  the  Church  suffered  in  those  ter- 
rible days  of  1843,  when  its  very  life-blood,  as 
well  as  its  integrity  and  unity,  was  threatened  by 
the  foes  in  its  own  household ;  when  breaches  of 
faith  and  trust  occurred  on  all  sides,  and  dissents 
and  disloyalties  shook  it  to  its  very  foundation  ! 
You  see,  Penelope,  I  have  never  fully  under- 
stood the  disagreements  about  heritors  and  liv- 
ings and  state  control  before,  but  here  is  the 
whole  matter  in  a  nut-sh — " 

"  My  dear  Salemina,"  I  interposed,  with  dig- 
nity, "you  will  pardon  me,  I  am  sure,  when  I 
tell  you  that  any  discussion  on  this  point  would 
be  intensely  painful  to  me,  as  I  now  belong  to 
the  Free  Kirk." 


Penelopes  Progress  81 

"Where  have  you  been  this  morning?"  she 
asked,  with  a  piercing  glance. 

"  To  St.  Andrew's  and  Tanfield  Hall." 

"With  whom?" 

"With  the  Friar." 

"  I  see  !  Happy  the  missionary  to  whom  you 
incline  your  ear,  yfr-.tf  /  " —  which  I  thought  rather 
inconsistent  of  Salemina,  as  she  had  been  con- 
verted by  precisely  the  same  methods  and  in  pre- 
cisely the  same  length  of  time  as  had  I,  the  only 
difference  being  in  the  ages  of  our  respective 
missionaries,  one  being  about  five  and  thirty,  the 
other  five  and  sixty.  Even  this  is  to  my  credit 
after  all,  for  if  one  can  be  persuaded  so  quickly 
and  fully  by  a  young  and  comparatively  inexperi- 
enced man,  it  shows  that  one  must  be  extremely 
susceptible  to  spiritual  influences  or  —  something. 


IX 

Religion  in  Edinburgh  is  a  theory,  a  conven- 
tion, a  fashion  (both  humble  and  aristocratic),  a 
sensation,  an  intellectual  conviction,  an  emotion, 
a  dissipation,  a  sweet  habit  of  the  blood  ;  in  fact, 
it  is,  it  seems  to  me,  every  sort  of  thing  it  can  be 
to  the  human  spirit. 

When  we  had  finished  our  church  toilettes,  and 
came  into  the  drawing-room,  on  the  first  Sunday 
morning,  I  remember  that  we  found  Francesca  at 
the  window. 

"There  is  a  battle,  murder,  or  sudden  death 
going  on  in  the  square  below,"  she  said.  "  I  am 
going  to  ask  Susanna  to  ask  Mrs.  M'Collop  what 
it  means.  Never  have  I  seen  such  a  crowd  mov- 
ing peacefully,  with  no  excitement  or  confusion, 
in  one  direction.  Where  can  the  people  be  go- 
ing ?  Do  you  suppose'  it  is  a  fire  ?  Why,  I  believe 
...  it  cannot  be  possible  .  .  .  yes,  they  certainly 
are  disappearing  in  that  big  church  on  the  cor- 
ner; and  millions,  simply  millions  and  trillions, 
are  coming  in  the  other  direction,  —  toward  St. 
Knox's." 

Impressive  as  was  this  morning  church-going,  a 
still  greater  surprise  awaited  us  at  seven  o'clock 
in   the   evening,   when   the   crowd   blocked  the 


Penelope  s  Progress  83 

streets  on  two  sides  of  a  church  near  Breadal- 
bane  Terrace  ;  and  though  it  was  quite  ten  min- 
utes before  service  when  we  entered,  Salemina 
and  I  only  secured  the  last  two  seats  in  the  aisle, 
and  Francesca  was  obliged  to  sit  on  the  steps  of 
the  pulpit  or  seek  a  sermon  elsewhere. 

It  amused  me  greatly  to  see  Francesca  sit- 
ting on  pulpit  steps,  her  Paris  gown  and  smart 
toque  in  close  juxtaposition  to  the  rusty  bonnet 
and  bombazine  dress  of  a  respectable  elderly 
tradeswoman.  The  church  officer  entered  first, 
bearing  the  great  Bible  and  hymn-book,  which  he 
reverently  placed  on  the  pulpit  cushions ;  and 
close  behind  him,  to  our  entire  astonishment, 
came  the  Reverend  Ronald  Macdonald,  evi- 
dently exchanging  with  the  regular  minister  of 
the  parish,  whom  we  had  come  especially  to  hear. 
I  pitied  Francesca's  confusion  and  embarrass- 
ment, but  I  was  too  far  from  her  to  offer  an 
exchange  of  seats,  and  through  the  long  service 
she  sat  there  at  the  feet  of  her  foe,  so  near  that 
she  could  have  touched  the  hem  of  his  gown  as 
he  knelt  devoutly  for  his  first  silent  prayer. 

Perhaps  she  was  thinking  of  her  last  interview 
with  him,  when  she  descanted  at  length  on  that 
superfluity  of  naughtiness  and  Biblical  pedantry 
which,  she  asserted,  made  Scottish  ministers 
preach  from  out-of-the-way  texts. 

"  I  've  never  been  able  to  find  my  place  in  the 
Bible  since  I  arrived,"  she  complained  to  Sale- 


84  Penelope  s  Progress 

mina,  when  she  was  quite  sure  that  Mr.  Macdonald 
was  listening  to  her ;  and  this  he  generally  was, 
in  my  opinion,  no  matter  who  chanced  to  be 
talking.  "  What  with  their  skipping  and  hopping 
about  from  Haggai  to  Philemon,  Habakkuk  to 
Jude,  and  Micah  to  Titus,  in  their  readings,  and 
then  settling  on  seventh  Nahum,  sixth  Zephaniah 
or  second  Calathumpians  for  the  sermon,  I  do 
nothing  but  search  the  Scriptures  in  the  Edinburgh 
churches,  —  search,  search,  search,  until  some 
Christian  by  my  side  or  in  the  pew  behind  me 
notices  my  hapless  plight,  and  hands  me  a  Bible 
opened  at  the  text.  Last  Sunday  it  was  Obadiah 
first,  fifteenth,  '  For  the  day  of  the  Lord  is  near 
upon  all  the  heathen.'  It  chanced  to  be  a  re- 
turned missionary  who  was  preaching  on  that 
occasion  ;  but  the  Bible  is  full  of  heathen,  and 
why  need  he  have  chosen  a  text  from  Obadiah, 
poor  little  Obadiah  one  page  long,  slipped  in  be- 
tween Amos  and  Jonah,  where  nobody  but  an 
elder  could  find  him  ? "  If  Francesca  had  not 
seen  with  wicked  delight  the  Reverend  Ronald's 
expression  of  anxiety,  she  would  never  have 
spoken  of  second  Calathumpians ;  but  of  course 
he  has  no  means  of  knowing  how  unlike  herself 
she  is  when  in  his  company. 

To  go  back  to  our  first  Sunday  worship  in 
Edinburgh.  The  church  officer  closed  the  door 
of  the  pulpit  on  the  Reverend  Ronald,  and  I 
thought  I  heard   the  clicking   of  a  lock  ;  at  all 


Penelope  s  Progress  85 

events,  he  returned  at  the  close  of  the  services  to 
liberate  him  and  escort  him  back  to  the  vestry ; 
for  the  entrances  and  exits  of  this  beadle,  or 
"  minister's  man,"  as  the  church  officer  is  called 
in  the  country  districts,  form  an  impressive  part 
of  the  ceremonies.  If  he  did  lock  the  minister 
into  the  pulpit,  it  is  probably  only  another  national 
custom,  4ike  the  occasional  locking  in  of  the  pas- 
sengers in  a  railway  train,  and  may  be  positively 
necessary  in  the  case  of  such  magnetic  and  pop- 
ular preachers  as  Mr.  Macdonald  or  the  Friar. 

I  have  never  seen  such  attention,  such  concen- 
tration, as  in  these  great  congregations  of  the 
Edinburgh  churches.  As  nearly  as  I  can  judge, 
it  is  intellectual  rather  than  emotional ;  but  it  is 
not  a  tribute  paid  to  eloquence  alone,  it  is  habit- 
ual and  universal,  and  is  yielded  loyally  to  insuf- 
ferable dullness  when  occasion  demands. 

When  the  text  is  announced,  there  is  an  inde- 
scribable rhythmic  movement  forward,  followed 
by  a  concerted  rustle  of  Bible  leaves ;  not  the 
rustle  of  a  few  Bibles  in  a  few  pious  pews,  but  the 
rustle  of  all  of  them  in  all  the  pews,  —  and 
there  are  more  Bibles  in  an  Edinburgh  Presby- 
terian church  than  one  ever  sees  anywhere  else, 
unless  it  be  in  the  warehouses  of  the  Bible 
Societies. 

The  text  is  read  twice  clearly,  and  another 
rhythmic  movement  follows  when  the  books  are 
replaced  on  the  shelves.    Then  there  is  a  delight- 


86  Penelope  s  Progress 

ful  settling  back  of  the  entire  congregation,  a 
snuggling  comfortably  into  corners  and  a  fitting 
of  shoulders  to  the  pews,  —  not  to  sleep,  how- 
ever; an  older  generation  may  have  done  that 
under  the  strain  of  a  two-hour  "  wearifu'  dreich  " 
sermon,  but  these  church-goers  are  not  to  be 
caught  napping.  They  wear,  on  the  contrary,  a 
keen,  expectant,  critical  look,  which  must  be  in- 
expressibly encouraging  to  the  minister,  if  he  has 
anything  to  say.  If  he  has  not  (and  this  is  a 
possibility  in  Edinburgh,  as  it  is  everywhere  else), 
then  I  am  sure  it  is  wisdom  for  the  beadle  to 
lock  him  in,  lest  he  flee  when  he  meets  those 
searching  eyes. 

The  Edinburgh  sermon,  though  doubtless  soft- 
ened in  outline  in  these  later  years,  is  still  a  more 
carefully  built  discourse  than  one  ordinarily  hears 
out  of  Scotland,  being  constructed  on  conven- 
tional lines  of  doctrine,  exposition,  logical  infer- 
ence, and  practical  application.  Though  modern 
preachers  do  not  announce  the  division  of  their 
subject  into  heads  and  sub-heads,  firstlies  and 
secondlies  and  finallies  my  brethren,  there  seems 
to  be  the  old  framework  underneath  the  sermon, 
and  every  one  recognizes  it  as  moving  silently  be- 
low the  surface  ;  at  least,  I  always  fancy  that  as 
the  minister  finishes  one  point  and  attacks  an- 
other the  younger  folk  fix  their  eagle  eyes  on 
him  afresh,  and  the  whole  congregation  sits  up 
straighter  and  listens  more  intently,  as  if  making 


Penelope  s  Progress  87 

mental  notes.  They  do  not  listen  so  much  as  if 
they  were  enthralled,  though  they  often  are  and 
have  good  reason  to  be,  but  as  if  they  were  to 
pass  an  examination  on  the  subject  afterwards  \ 
and  I  have  no  doubt  that  this  is  the  fact. 

The  prayers  are  many,  and  are  divided,  appar- 
ently, like  those  of  the  liturgies,  into  petitions,  con- 
fessions, and  aspirations ;  not  forgetting  the  all- 
embracing  one  with  which  we  are  perfectly  familiar 
in  our  native  land,  in  which  the  preacher  com- 
mends to  the  Fatherly  care  every  animate  and  in- 
animate thing  not  mentioned  specifically  in  the 
foregoing  supplications.  It  was  in  the  middle 
of  this  compendious  petition,  "  the  lang  prayer," 
that  rheumatic  old  Scottish  dames  used  to  make 
a  practice  of  "  cheengin'  the  fit,"  as  they  stood 
devoutly  through  it.  "  When  the  meenister  comes 
to  the  '  ingetherin'  o'  the  Gentiles,'  I  ken  weel 
it's  time  to  cheenge  legs,  for  then  the  prayer 
is  jist  half  dune,"  said  a  good  sermon-taster  of 
Fife. 

The  organ  is  finding  its  way  rapidly  into  the 
Scottish  kirks  (how  can  the  shade  of  John  Knox 
endure  a  "  kist  o'  whistles  "  in  good  St.  Giles'  ?), 
but  it  is  not  used  yet  in  some  of  those  we  attend 
most  frequently.  There  is  a  certain  quaint  so- 
lemnity, a  beautiful  austerity,  in  the  unaccom- 
panied singing  of  hymns  that  touches  me  pro- 
foundly. I  am  often  carried  very  high  on  the 
waves  of  splendid  church  music,  when  the  organ's 


88  Penelope's  Progress 

thunder  rolls  "through  vaulted  aisles"  and  the 
angelic  voices  of  a  trained  choir  chant  the  aspira- 
tions of  my  soul  for  me  j  but  when  an  Edinburgh 
congregation  stands,  and  the  precentor  leads  in 
that  noble  Paraphrase, 

"  God  of  our  fathers,  be  the  God 
Of  their  succeeding  race," 

there  is  a  certain  ascetic  fervor  in  it  that  seems 
to  me  the  perfection  of  worship.  It  may  be  that 
my  Puritan  ancestors  are  mainly  responsible  for 
this  feeling,  or  perhaps  my  recently  adopted 
Jenny  Geddes  is  a  factor  in  it ;  of  course,  if  she 
were  in  the  habit  of  flinging  fauldstules  at  Deans, 
she  was  probably  the  friend  of  truth  and  the  foe 
of  beauty,  so  far  as  it  was  in  her  power  to  separate 
them. 

There  is  no  music  during  the  offertory  in  these 
churches,  and  this,  too,  pleases  my  sense  of  the 
fitness  of  things.  It  cannot  soften  the  woe  of 
the  people  who  are  disinclined  to  the  giving  away 
of  money,  and  the  cheerful  givers  need  no  encour- 
agement. For  my  part,  I  like  to  sit,  quite  undis- 
tracted  by  soprano  solos,  and  listen  to  the  refined 
tinkle  of  the  sixpences  and  shillings,  and  the 
vulgar  chink  of  the  pennies  and  ha'pennies,  in 
the  contribution-boxes.  Country  ministers,  I  am 
told,  develop  sueh  an  acute  sense  of  hearing  that 
they  can  estimate  the  amount  of  the  collection 
before   it   is  counted.      There   is   often  a  huge 


Penelope  s  Progress  89 

pewter  plate  just  within  the  church  door,  in  which 
the  offerings  are  placed  as  the  worshipers  enter 
or  leave ;  and  one  always  notes  the  preponder- 
ance of  silver  at  the  morning,  and  of  copper  at 
the  evening  services.  It  is  perhaps  needless  to 
say  that  before  Francesca  had  been  in  Edinburgh 
a  fortnight  she  asked  Mr.  Macdonald  if  it  were 
true  that  the  Scots  continued  coining  the  farthing 
for  years  and  years,  merely  to  have  a  piece  of 
money  serviceable  for  church  offerings  ! 

As  to  social  differences  in  the  congregations 
we  are  somewhat  at  sea.  We  tried  to  arrive  at 
a  conclusion  by  the  hats  and  bonnets,  than  which 
there  is  usually  no  more  infallible  test.  On  our 
first  Sunday  we  attended  the  Free  Kirk  in  the 
morning,  and  the  Established  in  the  evening.  The 
bonnets  of  the  Free  Kirk  were  so  much  the  more 
elegant  that  we  said  to  one  another,  "  This  is 
evidently  the  church  of  society,  though  the  adjec- 
tive '  Free  '  should  by  rights  attract  the  masses." 
On  the  second  Sunday  we  reversed  the  order  of 
things,  and  found  the  Established  bonnet  much 
finer  than  the  Free  bonnets,  which  was  a  source 
of  mystification  to  us,  until  we  discovered  that 
it  was  a  question  of  morning  or  evening  service, 
not  of  the  form  of  Presbyterianism.  We  think, 
on  the  whole,  that,  taking  town  and  country 
congregations  together,  millinery  has  not  flour- 
ished under  Presbyterianism,  —  it  seems  to  thrive 
better  in  the  Romish  atmosphere  of  France  ;  but 


9<D  Penelope  s  Progress 

the  Disruption,  at  least,  has  had  nothing  to  an- 
swer for  in  the  matter,  as  it  appears  simply  to 
have  parted  the  bonnets  of  Scotland  in  twain, 
as  Moses  divided  the  Red  Sea,  and  left  good  and 
evil  on  both  sides. 

I  can  never  forget  our  first  military  service  at 
St.  Giles'.  We  left  Breadalbane  Terrace  before 
nine  in  the  morning  and  walked  along  the  beau- 
tiful curve  of  street  that  sweeps  around  the  base 
of  Castle  Rock,  — walked  on  through  the  poverty 
and  squalor  of  the  High  Street,  keeping  in  view 
the  beautiful  lantern  tower  as  a  guiding  star,  till 
we  heard 

"  The  murmur  of  the  city  crowd  ; 
And,  from  his  steeple,  .jingling  loud, 
St.  Giles's  mingling  din." 

We  joined  the  throng  outside  the  venerable 
church,  and  awaited  the  approach  of  the.  soldiers 
from  the  Castle  parade-ground ;  for  it  is  from 
there  they  march  in  detachments  to  the  church 
of  their  choice.  A  religion  they  must  have,  and 
if,  when  called  up  and  questioned  about  it,  they 
have  forgotten  to  provide  themselves,  or  have  no 
preference  as  to  form  of  worship,  they  are  as- 
signed to  one  by  the  person  in  authority.  When 
the  regiments  are  assembled  on  the  parade-ground 
of  a  Sunday  morning,  the  first  command  is, 
"Church  of  Scotland,  right  about  face,  quick 
march  !  "  —  the  bodies  of  men  belonging  to  other 
denominations    standing   fast    until    their    turn 


Penelope  s  Progress  91 

comes  to  move.  It  is  said  that  a  new  officer  once 
gave  the  command,  "  Church  of  Scotland,  right 
about  face,  quick  march  !  Fancy  releegions,  stay- 
where  ye  are !  " 

Just  as  we  were  being  told  this  story  by  an 
attendant  squire,  there  was  a  burst  of  scarlet 
and  a  blare  of  music,  and  down  Castle  Hill  and 
the  Lawnmarket  into  Parliament  Square  marched 
hundreds  of  redcoats,  the  Highland  pipers  (other- 
wise the  Olympian  gods)  swinging  in  front,  leav- 
ing the  American  female  heart  prostrate  beneath 
their  victorious  tread.  The  strains  of  music  that 
in  the  distance  sounded  so  martial  and  trium- 
phant we  recognized  in  a  moment  as  "Abide 
with  me,"  and  never  did  the  fine  old  tune  seem 
more  majestic  than  when  it  marked  a  measure 
for  the  steady  tramp,  tramp,  tramp,  of  those  sol- 
dierly feet.  As  "  The  March  of  the  Cameron 
Men,"  piped  from  the  green  steeps  of  Castle  Hill, 
had  aroused  in  us  thoughts  of  splendid  victories 
on  the  battlefield,  so  did  this  simple  hymn  awake 
the  spirit  of  the  church  militant ;  a  no  less  stern, 
but  more  spiritual  soldiership,  in  which  "  the  fruit 
of  righteousness  is  sown  in  peace  of  them  that 
make  peace." 

As  I  fell  asleep  on  that  first  Sunday  night  in 
Edinburgh,  after  the  somewhat  unusual  experience 
of  three  church  services  in  a  single  day,  three  sep- 
arate notes  of  memory  floated  in  and  out  of  the 
fabric  of  my  dreams :  the  sound  of  the  soldiers' 


92  Penelope's  Progress 

feet  marching  into  old  St.  Giles'  to  the  strains 
of  "  Abide  with  me  ; "  the  voice  of  the  Reverend 
Ronald  ringing  out  with  manly  insistence  :  "  It 
is  aspiration  that  counts,  not  realization  ;  pur- 
suit, not  achievement  j  quest,  not  conquest !  "  — 
and  the  closing  phrases  of  the  Friar's  prayer : 
"  When  Christ  has  forgiven  us,  help  us  to  forgive 
ourselves !  Help  us  to  forgive  ourselves  so  fully 
that  we  can  even  forget  ourselves,  remembering 
only  Him !  And  so  let  his  kingdom  come ;  we 
ask  it  for  the  King's  sake,  Amen." 


Even  at  this  time  of  Assemblies,  when  the 
atmosphere  is  almost  exclusively  clerical  and 
ecclesiastical,  the  two  great  church  armies  repre- 
sented here  certainly  conceal  from  the  casual  ob- 
server all  rivalries  and  jealousies,  if  indeed  they 
cherish  any.  As  for  the  two  dissenting  bodies, 
the  Church  of  the  Disruption  and  the  Church 
of  the  Secession  have  been  keeping  company,  so 
to  speak,  for  some  years,  with  a  distant  eye  to 
an  eventual  union.  In  the  light  of  all  this  plea- 
sant toleration,  it  seems  difficult  to  realize  that 
earlier  Edinburgh,  where,  we  learned  from  old 
parochial  records  of  1605,  Margaret  Sinclair  was 
cited  by  the  Session  of  the  Kirk  for  being  at 
the  Burne  for  water  on  the  Sabbath ;  that  Janet 
Merling  was  ordered  to  make  public  repentance 
for  concealing  a  bairn  unbaptized  in  her  house 
for  the  space  of  twenty  weeks  and  calling  said 
bairn  Janet ;  that  Pat  Richardson  had  to  crave 
mercy  for  being  found  in  his  boat  in  time  of 
afternoon  service  ;  and  that  Janet  Walker,  ac- 
cused of  having  visitors  in  her  house  in  sermon- 
time,  had  to  confess  her  offense  and  on  her  knees 
crave  mercy  of  God  and  the  Kirk  Session  (which 
no  doubt  was  much  worse)  under  penalty  of  a 


94  Penelope  s  Progress 

hundred  pounds  Scots.  Possibly  there  are  peo- 
ple yet  who  would  prefer  to  pay  a  hundred 
pounds  rather  than  hear  a  sermon,  but  they  are 
few. 

It  was  in  the  early  seventeen  hundred  and  thir- 
ties when  Allan  Ramsay,  "  in  fear  and  trembling 
of  legal  and  clerical  censure,"  lent  out  the  plays 
of  Congreve  and  Farquhar  from  his  famous  High 
Street  library.  In  1756  it  was  that  the  Presbytery 
of  Edinburgh  suspended  all  clergymen  who  had 
witnessed  the  representation  of  "  Douglas,"  that 
virtuous  tragedy  written,  to  the  dismay  of  all 
Scotland,  by  a  minister  of  the  Kirk.  That  the 
world,  even  the  theological  world,  moves  with 
tolerable  rapidity  when  once  set  in  motion,  is 
evinced  by  the  fact  that  on  Mrs.  Siddons'  sec- 
ond engagement  in  Edinburgh,  in  the  summer  of 
1785,  vast  crowds  gathered  about  the  doors  of 
the  theatre,  not  at  night  alone,  but  in  the  day,  to 
secure  places.  It  became  necessary  to  admit 
them  first  at  three  in  the  afternoon,  and  then  at 
noon,  and  eventually  "  the  General  Assembly  of 
the  Church  then  in  session  was  compelled  to 
arrange  its  meetings  with  reference  to  the  ap- 
pearance of  the  great  actress."  How  one  would 
have  enjoyed  hearing  that  Scotsman  say,  after 
one  of  her  most  splendid  flights  of  tragic  pas- 
sion, "  That 's  no  bad !  "  We  have  read  of  her 
dismay  at  this  ludicrous  parsimony  of  praise,  but 
her  self-respect  must  have  been  restored  when 


Penelope  s  Progress  95 

the  Edinburgh  ladies  fainted  by  dozens  during 
her  impersonation  of  Isabella  in  "The  Fatal 
Marriage." 

Since  Scottish  hospitality  is  well-nigh  inex- 
haustible, it  is  not  strange  that  from  the  moment 
Edinburgh  streets  began  to  be  crowded  with  min- 
isters, our  drawing-room  table  began  to  bear 
shoals  of  engraved  invitations  of  every  conceiv- 
able sort,  all  equally  unfamiliar  to  our  American 
eyes. 

"  The  Purse-Bearer  is  commanded  by  the  Lord 
High  Commissioner  and  the  Marchioness  of 
Heatherdale  to  invite  Miss  Hamilton  to  a  Gar- 
den Party  at  the  Palace  of  Holyrood  House,  on 
the  27th  of  May.      Weather  permitting :" 

"The  General  Assembly  of  the  Free  Church 
of  Scotland  admits  Miss  Hamilton  to  any  gallery 
on  any  day." 

"  The  Marchioness  of  Heatherdale  is  At  Home 
on  the  26th  of  May  from  a  quarter  past  nine  in 
the  evening.     Palace  of  Holyrood  House." 

"  The  Moderator  of  the  General  Assembly  of 
the  Free  Church  of  Scotland  is  At  Home  in  the 
Library  of  the  New  College  on  Saturday,  the  22 d 
May,  from  eight  to  ten  in  the  evening." 

"  The  Moderator  asks  the  pleasure  of  Miss 
Hamilton's  presence  at  a  Breakfast  to  be  given 
on  the  morning  of  the  25th  of  May  at  Dunedin 
Hotel." 

We  determined  to  go  to  all  these  functions 


g6  Penelope  s  Progress 

impartially,  tracking  thus  the  Presbyterian  lion 
to  his  very  lair,  and  observing  his  home  as  well 
as  his  company  manners.  In  everything  that 
related  to  the  distinctively  religious  side  of  the 
proceedings  we  sought  advice  from  Mrs.  M'Col- 
lop,  while  we  went  to  Lady  Baird  for  definite  in- 
formation on  secular  matters.  We  also  found  an 
unexpected  ally  in  the  person  of  our  own  ex- 
Moderator's  niece,  Miss  Jean  Dalziel  (Deeyell). 
She  has  been  educated  in  Paris,  but  she  must 
always  have  been  a  delightfully  breezy  person, 
quite  too  irrepressible  to  be  affected  by  Scottish 
haar  or  theology.  "  Go  to  the  Assemblies,  by  all 
means,"  she  said,  "and  be  sure  and  get  places 
for  the  heresy  case.  These  are  no  longer  what 
they  once  were,  —  we  are  getting  lamentably 
weak  and  gelatinous  in  our  beliefs,  —  but  there 
is  an  unusually  nice  one  this  year  j  the  heretic  is 
very  young  and  handsome,  and  quite  wicked,  as 
ministers  go.  Don't  fail  to  be  presented  at  the 
Marchioness's  court  at  Holyrood,  for  it  is  a  capi- 
tal preparation  for  the  ordeal  of  Her  Majesty 
and  Buckingham  Palace.  '  Nothing  fit  to  wear '  ? 
You  have  never  seen  the  people  who  go,  or  you 
would  n't  say  that !  I  even  advise  you  to  attend 
one  of  the  breakfasts  ;  it  can't  do  you  any  serious 
or  permanent  injury  so  long  as  you  eat  some- 
thing before  you  go.  Oh  no,  it  does  n't  matter, 
—  whichever  one  you  choose,  you  will  cheerfully 
omit  the  other ;  for  I  avow  as  a  Scottish  spinster, 


Penelope  s  Progress  97 

and  the  niece  of  an  ex  -  Moderator,  that  to  a 
stranger  and  a  foreigner  the  breakfasts  are  worse 
than  Arctic  explorations.  If  you  do  not  chance 
to  be  at  the  table  of  honor  "  — 

"The  gifted  Miss  Hamilton  is  always  at  the 
table  of  honor ;  unless  she  is  placed  there  she 
refuses  to  eat,  and  then  the  universe  rocks  to  its 
centre,"  interpolated  Francesca  impertinently. 

"  It  is  true,"  continued  Miss  Dalziel,  "  you  will 
often  sit  beside  a  minister  or  a  minister's  wife, 
who  will  make  you  scorn  the  sordid  appetites  of 
flesh,  but  if  you  do  not,  then  eat  as  little  as  may 
be,  and  flee  up  the  Mound  to  whichever  Assembly 
is  the  Mecca  of  your  soul !  " 

"  My  niece's  tongue  is  an  unruly  member," 
said  the  ex-Moderator,  who  was  present  at  this 
diatribe,  "  and  the  principal  mistake  she  makes 
in  her  judgment  of  these  clerical  feasts  is  that  she 
criticises  them  as  conventional  repasts,  whereas 
they  are  intended  to  be  informal  meetings  to- 
gether of  people  who  wish  to  be  better  ac- 
quainted." 

"  Hot  bacon  and  eggs  would  be  no  bar  to 
friendship,"  answered  Miss  Dalziel,  with  an  affec- 
tionate moue. 

"  Cold  bacon  and  eggs  is  better  than  cold 
piety,"  said  the  ex-Moderator,  "  and  it  may  be  a 
good  discipline  for  fastidious  young  ladies  who 
have  been  spoiled  by  Parisian  breakfasts." 

It  is  to  Mrs.  M'Collop  that  we  owe  our  chief 


98  Penelope  s  Progress 

insight  into  technical  church  matters,  although 
we  seldom  agree  with  her  "  opeenions  "  after  we 
gain  our  own  experience.  She  never  misses 
hearing  one  sermon  on  a  Sabbath,  and  oftener 
she  listens  to  two  or  three.  Neither  does  she 
confine  herself  to  the  ministrations  of  a  single 
preacher,  but  roves  from  one  sanctuary  to  an- 
other, seeking  the  bread  of  life,  often,  however, 
according  to  her  own  account,  getting  a  particu- 
larly indigestible  "  stane." 

She  is  thus  a  complete  guide  to  the  Edinburgh 
pulpit,  and  when  she  is  making  a  bed  in  the 
morning  she  dispenses  criticism  in  so  large  and 
impartial  a  manner  that  it  would  make  the  flesh 
of  the  "  meenistry  "  creep  were  it  overheard.  I 
used  to  think  Ian  Maclaren's  sermon-taster  a  pos- 
sible exaggeration  of  an  existent  type,  but  I  now 
see  that  she  is  truth  itself. 

"  Ye  '11  be  tryin'  anither  kirk  the  morn  ? "  sug- 
gests Mrs.  M'Collop,  spreading  the  clean  Sunday 
sheet  over  the  mattress.  "  Wha  did  ye  hear  the 
Sawbath  that's  bye?  Dr.  A?  Ay,  I  ken  him 
ower  weel ;  he  's  been  there  for  fifteen  years  an' 
mair.  Ay,  he  's  a  gifted  mon  —  off  an'  on  /  "  with 
an  emphasis  showing  clearly  that,  in  her  estima- 
tion, the  times  when  he  is  "  off "  outnumber 
those  when  he  is  "  on."  ..."  Ye  have  na  heard 
auld  Dr.  B  yet  ?  "  (Here  she  tucks  in  the  upper 
sheet  tidily  at  the  foot.)  "  He 's  a  graund 
strachtforrit  mon,  is  Dr.  B,  forbye  he  's  growin' 


Penelope  s  Progress  99 

maist  awfu'  dreich  in  his  sermons,  though  when 
he  's  that  wearisome  a  body  canna  heed  him  wi'- 
oot  takin'  peppermints  to  the  kirk,  he  's  nane  the 
less,  at  seeventy-sax,  a  better  mon  than  the  new 
asseestant.  Div  ye  ken  the  new  asseestant  ? 
He  's  a  wee-bit,  finger-fed  mannie,  ower  sma'  maist 
to  wear  a  goon  !  I  canna  thole  him,  wi'  his  lang- 
nebbit  words,  explainin'  an*  expoundin'  the  gude 
Book  as  if  it  had  jist  come  oot !  The  auld  doc- 
tor 's  nae  kirk-filler,  but  he  gies  us  fu'  meesure, 
pressed  doun  an'  rinnin'  over,  nae  bit-pickin's 
like  the  haverin'  asseestant ;  it 's  my  opeenion 
he's  no  soond,  wi'  his  parleyvoos  an'  his  clish- 
maclavers !  .  .  .  Mr.  C  ? "  (Now  comes  the 
shaking  and  straightening  and  smoothing  of  the 
first  blanket.)  "  Ay,  he 's  weel  eneuch !  I 
mind  ance  he  prayed  for  our  Free  Assembly,  an' 
then  he  turned  roun'  an'  prayed  for  the  Estab- 
lished, maist  in  the  same  breath,  —  he  's  a  broad, 
leeberal  mon  is  Mr.  C  !  .  .  .  Mr.  D  ?  Ay,  I  ken 
him  fine  ;  he  micht  be  waur,  though  he  's  ower 
fond  o'  the  kittle  pairts  o'  the  Old  Testament ; 
but  he  reads  his  sermon  from  the  paper,  an'  it 's 
an  auld  sayin',  '  If  a  meenister  canna  mind  [re- 
member] his  ain  discoorse,  nae  mair  can  the  con- 
gregation be  expectit  to  mind  it.'  .  .  .  Mr.  E? 
He  's  my  ain  meenister."  (She  has  a  pillow  in 
her  mouth  now,  but  though  she  is  shaking  it  as  a 
terrier  would  a  rat,  and  drawing  on  the  linen  slip 
at  the  same  time,  she  is  still  intelligible  between 


100  Penelope  s  Progress 

the  jerks.)  "  Susanna  says  his  sermon  is  like 
claith  made  o'  soond  'oo  [wool]  wi'  a  gude  twined 
thread,  an'  wrairpit  an'  weftit  wi'  doctrine.  Su- 
sanna kens  her  Bible  weel,  but  she  's  never  gaed 
forrit."  (To  "  gang  forrit "  is  to  take  the  com- 
munion.) "  Dr.  F  ?  I  ca'  him  the  greetin'  doc- 
tor !  He  's  aye  dingin'  the  dust  oot  o'  the  poopit 
cushions,  an'  greetin'  ower  the  sins  o'  the  human 
race,  an'  eespecially  of  his  ain  congregation. 
He  's  waur  syne  his  last  wife  sickened  an'  slippit 
awa.'  'T  was  a  chastenin'  he  'd  put  up  wi'  twice 
afore,  but  he  grat  nane  the  less.  She  was  a  bon- 
nie  bit  body,  was  the  thurd  Mistress  F  !  E'nbro 
could  'a'  better  spared  the  greetin'  doctor  than 
her,  I  'm  thinkin'." 

"  The  Lord  giveth  and  the  Lord  taketh  away, 
according  to  his  good  will  and  pleasure,"  I  ven- 
tured piously,  as  Mrs.  M'Collop  beat  the  bolster 
and  laid  it  in  place. 

"  Ou  ay,"  responded  that  good  woman,  as  she 
spread  the  counterpane  over  the  pillows  in  the 
way  I  particularly  dislike  —  "  ou  ay,  but  whiles  I 
think  it 's  a  peety  he  couldna  be  guidit ! '; 


XI 

We  were  to  make  our  bow  to  the  Lord  High 
Commissioner  and  the  Marchioness  of  Heather- 
dale  in  the  evening,  and  we  were  in  a  state  of 
republican  excitement  at  22,  Breadalbane  Ter- 
race. 

Francesca  had  surprised  us  by  refusing  to  be 
presented  at  this  semi-royal  Scottish  court. 
"  Not  I,"  she  said.  "  The  Marchioness  represents 
the  Queen ;  we  may  discover,  when  we  arrive, 
that  she  has  raised  the  standards  of  admission, 
and  requires  us  to  '  back  out '  of  the  throne-room. 
I  don't  propose  to  do  that  without  London  train- 
ing. Besides,  I  detest  crowds,  and  I  never  go 
to  my  own  President's  receptions ;  and  I  have  a 
headache,  anyway,  and  I  don't  feel  like  coping 
with  the  Reverend  Ronald  to-night !  "  (Lady 
Baird  was  to  take  us  under  her  wing,  and  her 
nephew  was  to  escort  us,  Sir  Robert  being  in 
Inveraray.) 

"  Sally,  my  dear,"  I  said,  as  Francesca  left  the 
room  with  a  bottle  of  smelling-salts  somewhat 
ostentatiously  in  evidence,  "  methinks  the  damsel 
doth  protest  too  much.  In  other  words,  she  de- 
votes a  good  deal  of  time  and  discussion  to  a 
gentleman  whom  she  heartily  dislikes.     As  she 


102  Penelope  s  Progress 

is  under  your  care,  I  will  direct  your  attention  to 
the  following  points  :  — 

"  Ronald  Macdonald  is  a  Scotsman ;  Fran- 
cesca  disapproves  of  international  alliances. 

"  He  is  a  Presbyterian  j  she  is  a  Swedenbor- 
gian. 

"  His  father  was  a  famous  old  school  doctor  ; 
Francesca  is  a  homceopathist. 

"  He  is  serious ;  Francesca  is  gay. 

"I  think,  under  all  the  circumstances,  their 
acquaintance  will  bear  watching.  Two  persons 
so  utterly  dissimilar,  and,  so  far  as  superficial 
observation  goes,  so  entirely  unsuited  to  each 
other,  are  quite  likely  to  drift  into  marriage 
unless  diverted  by  watchful  philanthropists." 

"  Nonsense  !  "  returned  Salemina  brusquely. 
"  You  think  because  you  are  under  the  spell  of 
the  tender  passion  yourself  that  other  people  are 
in  constant  danger.     Francesca  detests  him." 

"Who  told  you  so?" 

"  She  herself,"  triumphantly. 

"  Salemina,"  I  said  pityingly,  "  I  have  always 
believed  you  a  spinster  from  choice ;  don't  lead 
me  to  think  that  you  have  never  had  any  experi- 
ence in  these  matters  !  The  Reverend  Ronald 
has  also  intimated  to  me  as  plainly  as  he  dared 
that  he  cannot  bear  the  sight  of  Francesca. 
What  do  I  gather  from  this  statement  ?  The 
general  conclusion  that  if  it  be  true,  it  is  curious 
that  he  looks  at  her  incessantly." 


Penelope  s  Progress  103 

"  Francesca  would  never  live  in  Scotland,"  re- 
marked Salemina  feebly. 

"  Not  unless  she  were  asked,  of  course,"  I  re- 
plied. 

"  He  would  never  ask  her." 

"  Not  unless  he  thought  he  had  a  chance  of  an 
affirmative  answer." 

"  Her  father  would  never  allow  it." 

"  Her  father  allows  what  she  permits  him  to 
allow.     You  know  that  perfectly  well." 

"  What  shall  I  do  about  it,  then  ? " 

"  Consult  me." 

"  What  shall  we  do  about  it  ?  " 

"  Let  Nature  have  her  own  way." 

"  I  don't  believe  in  Nature." 

"  Don't  be  profane,  Salemina,  and  don't  be  un- 
rom antic,  which  is  worse ;  but  if  you  insist,  trust 
in  Providence." 

"  I  would  rather  trust  Francesca's  hard  heart." 

"  The  hardest  hearts  melt  if  sufficient  heat  be 
applied.  Did  I  take  you  to  Newhaven  and  read 
you  \  Christie  Johnstone '  on  the  beach  for 
naught  ?  Don't  you  remember  Charles  Reade 
said  that  the  Scotch  are  icebergs,  with  volcanoes 
underneath ;  thaw  the  Scotch  ice,  which  is  very 
cold,  and  you  shall  get  to  the  Scotch  fire,  warmer 
than  any  sun  of  Italy  or  Spain.  I  think  Mr. 
Macdonald  is  a  volcano." 

"  I  wish  he  were  extinct,"  said  Salemina  petu- 
lantly, "  and  I  wish  you  would  n't  make  me  ner- 
vous." 


104  Penelope  s  Progress 

"If  you  had  any  faculty  of  premonition,  you 
would  n't  have  waited  for  me  to  make  you  ner- 
vous." 

"  Some  people  are  singularly  omniscient." 

"  Others  are  singularly  deficient  "  —  And  at 
this  moment  Susanna  Crum  came  in  to  announce 
Miss  Jean  Dalziel,  who  had  come  to  see  sights 
with  us. 

It  was  our  almost  daily  practice  to  walk 
through  the  Old  Town,  and  we  were  now  famil- 
iar with  every  street  and  close  in  that  densely 
crowded  quarter.  Our  quest  for  the  sites  of  an- 
cient landmarks  never  grew  monotonous,  and  we 
were  always  reconstructing,  in  imagination,  the 
Cowgate,  the  Canongate,  the  Lawnmarket,  and 
the  High  Street,  until  we  could  see  Auld  Reekie 
as  it  was  in  bygone  centuries.  In  those  days  of 
continual  war  with  England,  people  crowded  their 
dwellings  as  near  the  Castle  as  possible,  so  floor 
was  piled  upon  floor  and  flat  upon  flat,  families 
ensconcing  themselves  above  other  families,  the 
tendency  being  ever  skyward.  Those  who  dwelt 
on  top  had  no  desire  to  spend  their  strength  in 
carrying  down  the  corkscrew  stairs  matter  which 
would  descend  by  the  force  of  gravity  if  pitched 
from  the  window  or  door  \  so  the  wayfarer,  espe- 
cially after  dusk,  would  be  greeted  with  cries  of 
"  Get  out  o'  the  gait !  "  or  "  Gardy  loo  !  "  which 
was  in  the  French  "  Gardez  Teau"  and  which 
would  have  been  understood  in  any  language,  I 


Penelope  s  Progress  105 

fancy,  after  a  little  experience.  The  streets  then 
were  filled  with  the  debris  flung  from  a  hundred 
upper  windows,  while  certain  ground-floor  ten- 
ants, such  as  butchers  and  candlemakers,  con- 
tributed their  full  share  to  the  fragrant  heaps. 
As  for  these  too  seldom  used  narrow  turnpike 
stairs,  imagine  the  dames  of  fashion  tilting  their 
vast  hoops  and  silken  show  -  petticoats  up  and 
down  in  them ! 

That  swine  roamed  at  will  in  these  Elysian 
fields  is  to  be  presumed,  since  we  have  this 
amusing  picture  of  three  High  Street  belles  and 
beauties  in  the  "  Traditions  of  Edinburgh  :  "  — 

"  So  easy  were  the  manners  of  the  great,  fa- 
bled to  be  so  stiff  and  decorous,"  says  the  author, 
"  that  Lady  Maxwell's  daughter  Jane,  who  after- 
ward became  the  Duchess  of  Gordon,  was  seen 
riding  a  sow  up  the  High  Street,  while  her  sister 
Eglantine  (afterwards  Lady  Wallace  of  Craigie) 
thumped  lustily  behind  with  a  stick." 

No  wonder,  in  view  of  all  this,  that  King  James 
VI.,  when  about  to  bring  home  his  "  darrest 
spous  "  Anne  of  Denmark,  wrote  to  the  Provost, 
"For  God's  sake  see  a'  things  are  richt  at  our 
hame-coming;  a  king  with  a  new-married  wife 
doesna  come  hame  ilka  day." 

Had  it  not  been  for  these  royal  home-comings 
and  visits  of  distinguished  foreigners,  now  and 
again  aided  by  something  still  more  salutary,  an 
occasional  outbreak  of  the  plague,  the  easy-going 


106  Penelope  s  Progress 

authorities  would  never  have  issued  any  "cleans- 
ing edicts,"  and  the  still  easier-going  inhabitants 
would  never  have  obeyed  them.  It  was  these 
dark,  tortuous  wynds  and  closes,  nevertheless, 
that  made  up  the  Court  End  of  Old  Edinbro' ; 
for  some  one  writes  in  1530,  "  Via  vaccarum  in 
qua  habitant  patricii  et  senatores  urbis "  (The 
nobility  and  chief  senators  of  the  city  dwell  in 
the  Cowgate).  And  as  for  the  Canongate,  this 
Saxon  gaet  or  way  of  the  Holyrood  canons,  it  still 
sheltered  in  1753  "two  dukes,  sixteen  earls,  two 
dowager  countesses,  seven  lords,  seven  lords  of 
session,  thirteen  baronets,  four  commanders  of 
the  forces  in  Scotland,  and  five  eminent  men," 
—  fine  game  indeed  for  Mally  Lee  ! 

"  A'  doun  alang  the  Canongate 

Were  beaux  o'  ilk  degree ; 
And  mony  ane  turned  round  to  look 

At  bonny  Mally  Lee. 
And  we  're  a'  gaun  east  an'  west, 

We  're  a'  gaun  agee, 
We  're  a'  gaun  east  an'  west 

Courtin'  Mally  Lee ! " 

Every  corner  bristles  with  memories.  Here  is 
the  Stamp  Office  Close,  from  which  the  lovely 
Susanna,  Countess  of  Eglinton,  was  wont  to  issue 
on  Assembly  nights  j  she,  six  feet  in  height,  with 
a  brilliantly  fair  complexion  and  a  "  face  of  the 
maist  bewitching  loveliness."  Her  seven  daugh- 
ters and  stepdaughters  were  all  conspicuously 
handsome,  and  it  was  deemed  a  goodly  sight  to 


Penelope  s  Progress  107 

watch  the  long  procession  of  eight  gilded  sedan- 
chairs  pass  from  the  Stamp  Office  Close,  bearing 
her  and  her  stately  brood  to  the  Assembly  Room, 
amid  a  crowd  that  was  "  hushed  with  respect  and 
admiration  to  behold  their  lofty  and  graceful  fig- 
ures step  from  the  chairs  on  the  pavement." 

Here  itself  is  the  site  of  those  old  Assemblies 
presided  over  at  one  time  by  the  famous  Miss 
Nicky  Murray,  a  directress  of  society  affairs,  who 
seems  to  have  been  a  feminine  premonition  of 
Count  d'Orsay  and  our  own  McAllister.  Rather 
dull  they  must  have  been,  those  old  Scotch  balls, 
where  Goldsmith  saw  the  ladies  and  gentlemen 
in  two  dismal  groups  divided  by  the  length  of 
the  room. 

"  The  Assembly  Close  received  the  fair  — 
Order  and  elegance  presided  there  — 
Each  gay  Right  Honourable  had  her  place, 
To  walk  a  minuet  with  becoming  grace. 
No  racing  to  the  dance  with  rival  hurry, 
Such  was  thy  sway,  O  famed  Miss  Nicky  Murray ! " 

It  was  half  past  nine  in  the  evening  when  Sa- 
lemina  and  I  drove  to  Holyrood,  our  humble 
cab-horse  jogging  faithfully  behind  Lady  Baird's 
brougham,  and  it  was  the  new  experience  of  see- 
ing Auld  Reekie  by  lamplight  that  called  up 
these  gay  visions  of  other  days,  —  visions  and 
days  so  thoroughly  our  mental  property  that  we 
could  not  help  resenting  the  fact  that  women 
were  hanging  washing  from  the  Countess  of  Eg- 
linton's  former  windows,  and  popping  their  un- 


108  Penelope  s  Progress 

kempt  heads  out  of  the  Duchess  of  Gordon's  old 
doorway. 

The  Reverend  Ronald  is  so  kind  !  He  enters 
so  fully  into  our  spirit  of  inquiry,  and  takes  such 
pleasure  in  our  enthusiasms  !  He  even  sprang 
lightly  out  of  Lady  Baird's  carriage  and  called  to 
our  "lamiter"  to  halt  while  he  showed  us  the 
site  of  the  Black  Turnpike,  from  whose  windows 
Queen  Mary  saw  the  last  of  her  kingdom's  capi- 
tal. 

"  Here  was  the  Black  Turnpike,  Miss  Hamil- 
ton ! "  he  cried ;  "  and  from  here  Mary  went  to 
Loch  Leven,  where  you  Hamiltons  and  the  Se- 
tons  came  gallantly  to  her  help.  Don't  you  re- 
member the  '  far  ride  to  the  Solway  sands  '  ? " 

I  looked  with  interest,  though  I  was  in  such  a 
state  of  delicious  excitement  that  I  could  scarce 
keep  my  seat. 

"  Only  a  few  minutes  more,  Salemina,"  I 
sighed,  "and  we  shall  be  in  the  palace  court- 
yard ;  then  a  probable  half  -  hour  in  crowded 
dressing-rooms,  with  another  half-hour  in  line, 
and  then,  then  we  shall  be  making  our  best  re- 
publican bow  in  the  Gallery  of  the  Kings  !  How 
I  wish  Mr.  Beresford  and  Francesca  were  with 
us  !  What  do  you  suppose  was  her  real  reason 
for  staying  away  ?  Some  petty  disagreement 
with  our  young  minister,  I  am  sure.  Do  you 
think  the  dampness  is  taking  the  curl  out  of  our 
hair  ?     Do  you  suppose  our  gowns  will  be  torn 


Penelope  s  Progress  109 

to  ribbons  before  the  Marchioness  sees  them  ? 
Do  you  believe  we  shall  look  as  well  as  anybody  ? 
Privately,  I  think  we  must  look  better  than  any- 
body ;  but  I  always  think  that  on  my  way  to  a 
party,  never  after  I  arrive." 

Mrs.  M'Collop  had  asserted  that  I  was  "bon- 
nie  eneuch  for  ony  court,"  and  I  could  not  help 
wishing  that  "mine  ain  dear  Somebody"  might 
see  me  in  my  French  frock  embroidered  with  sil- 
ver thistles,  and  my  "  shower  bouquet "  of  Scot- 
tish bluebells  tied  loosely  together.  Salemina 
wore  pinky-purple  velvet ;  a  real  heather  color  it 
was,  though  the  Lord  High  Commissioner  would 
probably  never  note  the  fact. 

When  we  had  presented  our  cards  of  invitation 
at  the  palace  doors,  we  joined  the  throng  and 
patiently  made  our  way  up  the  splendid  stair- 
cases, past  powdered  lackeys  without  number, 
and,  divested  of  our  wraps,  joined  another  throng 
on  our  way  to  the  throne-room,  Salemina  and  I 
pressing  those  cards  with  our  names  "legibly 
written  on  them"  close  to  our  palpitating  breasts. 

At  last  the  moment  came  when,  Lady  Baird 
having  preceded  me,  I  handed  my  bit  of  paste- 
board to  the  usher  •  and  hearing  "  Miss  Hamil- 
ton "  called  in  stentorian  accents,  I  went  forward 
in  my  turn,  and  executed  a  graceful  and  elegant 
but  not  too  profound  curtsy,  carefully  arranged 
to  suit  the  semi-royal,  semi-ecclesiastical  occa- 
sion.    I  had  not  divulged  the  fact  even  to  Sale- 


no  Penelope  s  Progress 

mina,  but  I  had  worn  Mrs.  M'Collop's  carpet 
quite  threadbare  in  front  of  the  long  mirror,  and 
had  curtsied  to  myself  so  many  times  in  its  crys- 
tal surface  that  I  had  developed  a  sort  of  ficti- 
tious reverence  for  my  reflected  image.  I  had 
only  begun  my  well-practiced  obeisance  when 
Her  Grace  the  Marchioness,  to  my  mingled  sur- 
prise and  embarrassment,  extended  a  gracious 
hand  and  murmured  my  name  in  a  particularly 
kind  voice.  She  is  fond  of  Lady  Baird,  and  per- 
haps chose  this  method  of  showing  her  friend- 
ship ;  or  it  may  be  that  she  noticed  my  silver 
thistles  and  Salemina's  heather-colored  velvet, — 
they  certainly  deserved  special  recognition  ;  or  it 
may  be  that  I  was  too  beautiful  to  pass  over  in 
silence,  —  in  my  state  of  exaltation  I  was  quite 
equal  to  the  belief. 

The  presentation  over,  we  wandered  through 
the  spacious  apartments,  leaning  from  the  open 
windows  to  hear  the  music  of  the  band  playing 
in  the  courtyard  below,  looking  at  the  royal  por- 
traits, and  chatting  with  groups  of  friends  who 
appeared  and  reappeared  in  the  throng.  Finally 
Lady  Baird  sent  for  us  to  join  her  in  a  knot  of 
personages  more  and  less  distinguished,  who  had 
dined  at  the  palace,  and  who  were  standing  be- 
hind the  receiving  party  in  a  sort  of  sacred  group. 
This  indeed  was  a  ground  of  vantage,  and  one 
could  have  stood  there  for  hours,  watching  all 
sorts  and  conditions  of  men  and  women  bowing 


Penelopes  Progress  in 

before  the  Lord  High  Commissioner  and  the 
Marchioness,  who,  with  her  Cleopatra-like  beauty 
and  scarlet  gown,  looked  like  a  gorgeous  cardinal- 
flower. 

Salemina  and  I  watched  the  curtsying  nar- 
rowly, with  the  view  at  first  of  improving  our  own 
obeisances  for  Buckingham  Palace  ;  but  truth  to 
say  we  got  no  added  light,  and  plainly  most  of 
the  people  had  not  worn  threadbare  the  carpets 
in  front  of  their  dressing-mirrors. 

Suddenly  we  heard  a  familiar  name  announced, 
"  Lord  Colquhoun,"  a  distinguished  judge  who 
had  lately  been  raised  to  the  peerage,  and  whom 
we  often  met  at  dinners  ;  then  "  Miss  Rowena 
Colquhoun  ; "  and  then,  in  the  midst,  we  fancied, 
of  an  unusual  stir  at  the  entrance  door  —  "  Miss 
Francesca  Van  Buren  Monroe."  I  involuntarily 
touched  the  Reverend  Ronald's  shoulder  in  my 
astonishment,  while  Salemina  lifted  her  tortoise- 
shell  lorgnette,  and  we  gazed  silently  at  our  re- 
creant charge. 

After  presentation,  each  person  has  fifteen  or 
twenty  feet  of  awful  space  to  traverse  in  solitary 
and  defenseless  majesty  ;  scanned  meanwhile  by 
the  maids  of  honor  (who,  if  they  were  truly  hon- 
orable, would  turn  their  eyes  another  way),  la- 
dies-in-waiting, the  sacred  group  in  the  rear,  and 
the  Purse-Bearer  himself.  I  had  supposed  that 
this  functionary  would  keep  the  purse  in  his 
upper  bureau  drawer  at  home,  when  he  was  not 


112  Penelopes  Progress 

paying  bills,  but  it  seems  that  when  on  proces- 
sional duty  he  carries  a  bag  of  red  velvet  quite  a 
yard  long  over  his  arm,  where  it  looks  not  unlike 
a  lady's  opera-cloak.  It  would  hold  the  sum 
total  of  the  moneys  disbursed,  even  if  they  were 
reduced  to  the  standard  of  vulgar  copper. 

Under  this  appalling  fire  of  inspection,  some 
of  the  victims  waddle,  some  hurry;  some  look 
up  and  down  nervously,  others  glance  over  the 
shoulder  as  if  dreading  to  be  apprehended  ;  some 
turn  red,  others  pale,  according  to  complexion 
and  temperament ;  some  swing  their  arms,  others 
trip  on  their  gowns ;  some  twitch  the  buttons  of  a 
glove,  or  tweak  a  flower  or  a  jewel.  Francesca 
rose  superior  to  all  these  weaknesses,  and  I 
doubt  if  the  Gallery  of  the  Kings  ever  served  as 
a  background  for  anything  lovelier  or  more  high- 
bred than  that  untitled  slip  of  a  girl  from  "  the 
States."  Her  trailing  gown  of  pearl-white  satin 
fell  in  unbroken  lustrous  folds  behind  her.  Her 
beautiful  throat  and  shoulders  rose  in  statuesque 
whiteness  from  the  mist  of  chiffon  that  encircled 
them.  Her  dark  hair  showed  a  moonbeam  part- 
ing that  rested  the  eye,  wearied  by  the  con- 
templation of  waves  and  frizzes  fresh  from  the 
curling-tongs.  Her  mother's  pearls  hung  in 
ropes  from  neck  to  waist,  and  the  one  spot  of 
color  about  her  was  the  single  American  Beauty 
rose  she  carried.  There  is  a  patriotic  florist  in 
Paris  who  grows  these  long-stemmed  empresses 


Penelopes  Progress  113 

of  the  rose-garden,  and  Mr.  Beresford  sends  some 
to  me  every  week.  Francesca  had  taken  the 
flower  without  permission,  and  I  must  say  she 
was  as  worthy  of  it  as  it  of  her. 

She  curtsied  deeply,  with  no  exaggerated  cere- 
mony, but  with  a  sort  of  innocent  and  childlike 
gravity,  while  the  satin  of  her  gown  spread  itself 
like  a  great  blossom  over  the  floor.  Her  head 
was  bowed  until  the  dark  lashes  swept  her  crim- 
son cheeks  ;  then  she  rose  again  from  the  heart 
of  the  shimmering  lily,  with  the  one  splendid  rose 
glowing  against  all  her  dazzling  whiteness,  and 
floated  slowly  across  the  dreaded  space  to  th<; 
door  of  exit  as  if  she  were  preceded  by  invisible 
heralds  and  followed  by  invisible  train-bearers. 

"  Who  is  she  ?  "  we  heard  whispered  here  and 
there.  "  Look  at  the  rose  !  "  "  Look  at  the 
pearls  !  Is  she  a  princess  or  only  an  Ameri- 
can ? » 

I  glanced  at  the  Reverend  Ronald.  I  imagined 
he  looked  pale;  at  any  rate,  he  was  biting  his 
under  lip  nervously  and  I  believe  he  was  in  fancy 
laying  his  serious,  Scottish,  allopathic,  Presbyte- 
rian heart  at  Francesca's  gay,  American,  homoeo- 
pathic, Swedenborgian  feet. 

"  It  is  a  pity  Miss  Monroe  is  such  an  ardent 
republican,"  he  said,  with  unconcealed  bitter- 
ness j  "  otherwise  she  ought  to  be  a  duchess.  I 
never  saw  a  head  that  better  suited  a  coronet, 
nor,  if  you  will  pardon  me,  one  that  contained 
more  caprices." 


H4  Penelope  s  Progress 

"  It  is  true  she  flatly  refused  to  accompany  us 
here,"  I  allowed,  "  but  perhaps  she  has  some 
explanation  more  or  less  silly  and  serviceable; 
meantime,  I  defy  you  to  tell  me  she  isn't  a 
beauty,  and  I  implore  you  to  say  nothing  about 
its  being  only  skin-deep.  Give  me  a  beautiful 
exterior,  say  I,  and  I  will  spend  my  life  in  mak- 
ing the  hidden  things  of  mind  and  soul  conform 
to  it ;  but  deliver  me  from  all  forlorn  attempts 
to  make  my  beauty  of  character  speak  through  a 
large  mouth,  breathe  through  a  fat  nose,  and  look 
at  my  neighbor  through  crossed  eyes  !  " 

Mr.  Macdonald  agreed  with  me,  with  some 
few  ministerial  reservations.  He  always  agrees 
with  me,  and  why  he  is  not  tortured  at  the 
thought  of  my  being  the  promised  bride  of  an- 
other, but  continues  to  squander  his  affections 
upon  a  quarrelsome  and  unappreciative  girl,  is 
more  than  I  can  comprehend. 

Francesca,  escorted  by  Lord  Colquhoun,  ap- 
peared presently  in  our  group,  but  Salemina  did 
not  even  attempt  to  scold  her.  One  cannot 
scold  an  imperious  young  beauty  in  white  satin 
and  pearls,  particularly  if  she  is  leaning  noncha- 
lantly on  the  arm  of  a  peer  of  the  realm. 

It  seems  that  shortly  after  our  departure  (we 
had  dined  with  Lady  Baird)  Lord  Colquhoun 
had  sent  a  note  to  me,  requiring  an  answer. 
Francesca  had  opened  it,  and  found  that  he  of- 
fered an  extra  card  of  invitation  to  one  of  us, 


Penelopes  Progress  115 

and  said  that  he  and  his  sister  would  gladly  serve 
as  escort  to  Holyrood,  if  desired.  She  had  had 
an  hour  or  two  of  solitude  by  this  time,  and  was 
wrell  weary  of  it,  while  the  last  vestige  of  headache 
disappeared  under  the  temptation  of  appearing 
at  court  with  all  the  eclat  of  unexpectedness. 
She  dispatched  a  note  of  acceptance  to  Lord 
Colquhoun,  summoned  Mrs.  M'Collop,  Susanna, 
and  the  maiden  Boots  to  her  assistance,  spread 
the  trays  of  her  Saratoga  trunks  about  our  three 
bedrooms,  grouped  all  our  candles  on  her  dress- 
ing-table, and  borrowed  any  little  elegance  of 
toilette  which  we  chanced  to  have  left  behind. 
Her  own  store  of  adornments  is  much  greater 
than  ours,  but  we  possess  certain  articles  for 
which  she  has  a  childlike  admiration :  my  white 
satin  slippers  embroidered  with  seed  pearls,  Sa- 
lemina's  pearl-topped  comb,  Salemina's  Valenci- 
ennes handkerchief  and  diamond  belt-clasp,  my 
pearl  frog  with  ruby  eyes.  We  identified  our 
property  on  her  impertinent  young  person,  and 
the  list  of  her  borrowings  so  amused  the  Reverend 
Ronald  that  he  forgot  his  injuries. 

"  It  is  really  an  ordeal,  that  presentation,  no 
matter  how  strong  one's  sense  of  humor  may  be, 
nor  how  well  rooted  one's  democracy,"  chattered 
Francesca  to  a  serried  rank  of  officers  who  sur- 
rounded her  to  the  total  routing  of  the  ministry. 
"  It  is  especially  trying  if  one  has  come  unex- 
pectedly and  has  no  idea  of  what  is  to  happen. 


n6  Penelopes  Progi'ess 

I  was  agitated  at  the  supreme  moment,  be- 
cause, at  the  entrance  of  the  throne-room,  I  had 
just  shaken  hands  reverently  with  a  splendid 
person  who  proved  to  be  a  footman.  Of  course 
I  took  him  for  the  Commander  of  the  Queen's 
Guards,  or  the  Keeper  of  the  Dungeon  Keys,  or 
the  Most  Noble  Custodian  of  the  Royal  Moats, 
Drawbridges,  and  Portcullises.  When  he  put  out 
his  hand  I  had  no  idea  it  was  simply  to  waft  me 
onward,  and  so  naturally  I  shook  it,  —  it 's  a  mercy 
that  I  did  n't  kiss  it !  Then  I  curtsied  to  the 
Royal  Usher,  and  overlooked  the  Lord  High 
Commissioner  altogether,  having  no  eyes  for  any 
one  but  the  beautiful  scarlet  Marchioness.  I 
only  hope  they  were  too  busy  to  notice  my  mis- 
takes, otherwise  I  shall  be  banished  from  Court 
at  the  very  moment  of  my  presentation.  —  Do 
you  still  banish  nowadays  ? "  turning  the  bat- 
tery of  her  eyes  upon  a  particularly  insignifi- 
cant officer  who  was  far  too  dazed  to  answer. 
"  Did  you  see  the  child  of  ten  who  was  next  to 
me  in  line  ?  She  is  Mrs.  Macstronachlacher ;  at 
least  that  was  the  name  on  the  card  she  carried, 
and  she  was  thus  announced.  As  they  tell  us  the 
Purse-Bearer  is  most  rigorous  in  arranging  these 
functions  and  issuing  the  invitations,  I  presume 
she  must  be  Mrs.  Macstronachlacher ;  but  if  so, 
they  marry  very  young  in  Scotland,  and  her 
skirts  should  really  have  been  longer !  " 


XII 

It  is  our  last  day  in  "  Scotia's  darling  seat," 
our  last  day  in  Breadalbane  Terrace,  our  last 
day  with  Mrs.  M'Collop  ;  and  though  every  one 
says  that  we  shall  love  the  life  in  the  country,  we 
are  loath  to  leave  Auld  Reekie. 

Salemina  and  I  have  spent  two  days  in  search 
of  an  abiding-place,  and  have  visited  eight  well- 
recommended  villages  with  that  end  in  view ;  but 
she  disliked  four  of  them,  and  I  could  n't  endure 
the  other  four,  though  I  considered  some  of  those 
that  fell  under  her  disapproval  as  quite  delight- 
ful in  every  respect. 

We  never  take  Francesca  on  these  pilgrimages 
of  disagreement,  as  three  conflicting  opinions  on 
the  same  subject  would  make  insupportable  what 
is  otherwise  rather  exhilarating.  She  starts 
from  Edinburgh  to-morrow  for  a  brief  visit  to  the 
Highlands  with  the  Dalziels,  and  will  join  us 
when  we  have  settled  ourselves. 

Mr.  Beresford  leaves  Paris  as  soon  after  our 
decision  as  he  is  permitted,  so  Salemina  and  I 
have  agreed  to  agree  upon  one  ideal  spot  within 
thirty-six  hours  of  our  quitting  Edinburgh,  know- 
ing privately  that  after  a  last  battle  royal  we 
shall  enthusiastically  support  the  joint  decision 
for  the  rest  of  our  lives. 


n8  Penelopes  Progress 

We  have  been  bidding  good-by  to  people  and 
places  and  things,  and  wishing  the  sun  would 
not  shine  and  thus  make  our  task  the  harder. 
We  have  looked  our  last  on  the  old  gray  town 
from  Calton  Hill,  of  all  places  the  best,  perhaps, 
for  a  view ;  since,  as  Stevenson  says,  from  Cal- 
ton Hill  you  can  see  the  Castle,  which  you  lose 
from  the  Castle,  and  Arthur's  Seat,  which  you 
cannot  see  from  Arthur's  Seat.  We  have  taken 
a  farewell  walk  to  the  Dean  Bridge,  to  gaze  wist- 
fully eastward  and  marvel  for  the  hundredth  time 
to  find  so  beautiful  a  spot  in  the  heart  of  a  city. 
The  soft  flowing  Water  of  Leith  winding  over 
pebbles  between  grassy  banks  and  groups  of 
splendid  trees,  the  roof  of  the  little  temple  to  Hy- 
geia  rising  picturesquely  among  green  branches, 
the  slopes  of  emerald  velvet  leading  up  to  the 
gray  stone  of  the  houses,  —  where,  in  all  the 
world  of  cities,  can  one  find  a  view  to  equal  it  in 
peaceful  loveliness  ?  Francesca's  "  bridge-man,'' 
who,  by  the  way,  proved  to  be  a  distinguished 
young  professor  of  medicine  in  the  university, 
says  that  the  beautiful  cities  of  the  world  should 
be  ranked  thus, —  Constantinople,  Prague,  Genoa, 
Edinburgh  ;  but  having  seen  only  one  of  these,  and 
that  the  last,  I  refuse  to  credit  any  sliding  scale 
of  comparison  which  leaves  Edina  at  the  foot. 

It  was  nearing  tea-time,  an  hour  when  we  never 
fail  to  have  visitors,  and  we  were  all  in  the  draw- 
ing-room together.     I  was  at  the  piano,  singing 


Penelope  s  Progress 


119 


Jacobite  melodies  for  Salemina's  delectation. 
When  I  came  to  the  last  verse  of  Lady  Nairne's 
"  Hundred  Pipers,"  the  spirited  words  had  taken 
my  fancy  captive,  and  I  am  sure  I  could  not  have 
sung  with  more  vigor  and  passion  had  my  people 
been  "  out  with  the  Chevalier." 

"  The  Esk  was  swollen  sae  red  an'  sae  deep, 
But  shouther  to  shouther  the  brave  lads  keep  ; 
Twa  thousand  swam  oure  to  fell  English  ground, 
An'  danced  themselves  dry  to  the  pibroch's  sound. 
Dumfounder'd  the  English  saw,  they  saw, 
Dumfounder'd  they  heard  the  blaw,  the  blaw, 
Dumfounder'd  they  a'  ran  awa',  awa', 
Frae  the  hundred  pipers  an'  a',  an'  a' !  " 

By  the  time  I  came  to  "  Dumfounder'd  the  Eng- 
lish saw  "  Francesca  left  her  book  and  joined  in 
the  next  four  lines,  and  when  we  broke  into  the 
chorus  Salemina  rushed  to  the  piano,  and  al- 
though she  cannot  sing,  she  lifted  her  voice  both 
high  and  loud  in  the  refrain,  beating  time  the 
while  with  a  dirk  paper-knife. 


&^^E 


fe 


-0-       ^         ■'         llh 

Wi'     a  hun  -  dred    pi  -  pers  an' 


*=X 


-• — 0- 


zszzfc 


fc=£ 


*— *- 


$ 


t',     an'    a',     Wi'    a    hun  -  dred  pi 


r? 


k !*- 


±±± 


m 


pers    an'     a',       an'      a',        We  '11 


120 


Penelope  s  Progress 


i 


^£ 


up  an'  gie  them  a  blaw,  a  blaw,  Wi'  a 


*~ * 


II 


hundred    pi-pers    an'  a',    an'  a'  ! 

Susanna  ushered  in  Mr.  Macdonald  and  Dr. 
Moncrieffe  as  the  last  "  blaw  "  faded  into  silence, 
and  Jean  Dalziel  came  upstairs  to  say  that  they 
could  seldom  get  a  quiet  moment  for  family 
prayers,  because  we  were  always  at  the  piano, 
hurling  incendiary  sentiments  into  the  air,  —  sen- 
timents set  to  such  stirring  melodies  that  no  one 
could  resist  them. 

"We  are  very  sorry,  Miss  Dalziel,"  I  said  peni- 
tently. "  We  reserve  an  hour  in  the  morning 
and  another  at  bedtime  for  your  uncle's  prayers, 
but  we  had  no  idea  you  had  them  at  afternoon 
tea,  even  in  Scotland.  I  believe  that  you  are 
chaffing,  and  came  up  only  to  swell  the  chorus. 
Come,  let  us  all  sing  together  from  '  Dura- 
founder'd  the  English  saw.'  " 

Mr.  Macdonald  and  Dr.  Moncrieffe  gave  such 
splendid  body  to  the  music,  and  Jean  such  war- 
like energy,  that  Salemina  waved  her  paper-knife 
in  a  manner  more  than  ever  sanguinary,  and  Su- 
sanna hesitated  outside  the  door  for  sheer  delight, 
and  had  to  be  coaxed  in  with  the  tea-things.  On 
the  heels  of   the  tea-things   came  the  Dominie, 


Penelope  s  Progress  121 

another  dear  old  friend  of  six  weeks'  standing ; 
and  while  the  doctor  sang  "  Jock  o'  Hazledean  " 
with  such  irresistible  charm  that  we  all  longed 
to  elope  with  somebody  on  the  instant,  Salemina 
dispensed  buttered  toast,  marmalade  sandwiches, 
and  the  fragrant  cup.  By  this  time  we  were 
thoroughly  cosy,  and  Mr.  Macdonald  made  him- 
self and  us  very  much  at  home  by  stirring  the 
fire  ;  whereupon  Francesca  embarrassed  him  by 
begging  him  not  to  touch  it  unless  he  could  do  it 
properly,  which,  she  added,  seemed  quite  unlikely, 
from  the  way  in  which  he  handled  the  poker. 

"  What  will  Edinburgh  do  without  you  ? "  he 
asked,  turning  towards  us  with  flattering  sadness 
in  his  tone.  "  Who  will  hear  our  Scotch  stories, 
never  suspecting  their  hoary  old  age  ?  Who  will 
ask  us  questions  to  which  we  somehow  always 
know  the  answers  ?  Who  will  make  us  study 
and  reverence  anew  our  own  landmarks  ?  Who 
will  keep  warm  our  national  and  local  pride  by 
judicious  enthusiasm  ? " 

"  I  think  the  national  and  local  pride  may  be 
counted  on  to  exist  without  any  artificial  stimu- 
lants," dryly  observed  Francesca,  whose  spirit  is 
not  in  the  least  quenched  by  approaching  depar- 
ture. 

"  Perhaps,"  answered  the  Reverend  Ronald ; 
"  but  at  any  rate,  you,  Miss  Monroe,  will  always 
be  able  to  reflect  that  you  have  never  been  re- 
sponsible even  for  its  momentary  inflation  !  " 


122  Penelope  s  Progress 

"  Is  n't  it  strange  that  she  cannot  get  on  better 
with  that  charming  fellow  ? "  murmured  Salemina, 
as  she  passed  me  the  sugar  for  my  second  cup. 

"  If  your  present  symptoms  of  blindness  con- 
tinue, Salemina,"  I  said,  searching  for  a  small 
lump  so  as  to  gain  time,  "  I  shall  write  you  a 
plaintive  ballad,  buy  you  a  dog,  and  stand  you 
on  a  street  corner !  If  you  had  ever  permitted 
yourself  to  '  get  on  '  with  any  man  as  Francesca 
is  getting  on  with  Mr.  Macdonald,  you  would 
now  be  Mrs.  —  Somebody." 

"  Do  you  know,  doctor,"  asked  the  Dominie, 
"  that  Miss  Hamilton  shed  real  tears  at  Holy- 
rood,  the  other  night,  when  the  band  played 
*  Bonnie  Charlie 's  now  awa' '  ?  " 

"  They  were  real,"  I  confessed,  "  in  the  sense 
that  they  certainly  were  not  crocodile  tears  ;  but 
I  am  somewhat  at  a  loss  to  explain  them  from  a 
sensible,  American  standpoint.  Of  course  my 
Jacobitism  is  purely  impersonal,  though  scarcely 
more  so  than  yours,  at  this  late  day ;  at  least  it 
is  merely  a  poetic  sentiment,  for  which  Caroline, 
Baroness  Nairne  is  mainly  responsible.  My  ro- 
mantic tears  came  from  a  vision  of  the  Bonnie 
Prince  as  he  entered  Holyrood,  dressed  in  his 
short  tartan  coat,  his  scarlet  breeches  and  mili- 
tary boots,  the  star  of  St.  Andrew  on  his  breast, 
a  blue  ribbon  over  his  shoulder,  and  the  famous 
blue  velvet  bonnet  and  white  cockade.  He 
must  have  looked  so  brave  and  handsome  and 


Penelope  s  Progress  123 

hopeful  at  that  moment,  and  the  moment  was 
so  sadly  brief,  that  when  the  band  played  the 
plaintive  air  I  kept  hearing  the  words,  — 

'  Mony  a  heart  will  break  in  twa, 
Should  he  no  come  back  again.' 

He  did  come  back  again  to  me  that  evening, 
and  held  a  phantom  levee  behind  the  Marchion- 
ess of  Heatherdale's  shoulder.  His  '  ghaist ' 
looked  bonnie  and  rosy  and  confident,  yet  all  the 
time  the  band  was  playing  the  requiem  for  his 
lost  cause  and  buried  hopes." 

I  looked  towards  the  fire  to  hide  the  moisture 
that  crept  again  into  my  eyes,  and  my  glance  fell 
upon  Francesca  sitting  dreamily  on  a  hassock  in 
front  of  the  cheerful  blaze,  her  chin  in  the  hol- 
low of  her  palm,  and  the  Reverend  Ronald 
standing  on  the  hearth-rug  gazing  at  her,  the 
poker  in  his  hand,  and  his  heart,  I  regret  to  say, 
in  such  an  exposed  position  on  his  sleeve  that 
even  Salemina  could  have  seen  it  had  she  turned 
her  eyes  that  way. 

Jean  Dalziel  broke  the  momentary  silence : 
"  I  am  sure  I  never  hear  the  last  two  lines,  — 

1  Better  lo'ed  ye  canna  be, 
Will  ye  no  come  back  again  ? ' 

without  a  lump  in  my  throat,"  and  she  hummed 
the  lovely  melody.  "  It  is  all  as  you  say  purely 
impersonal  and  poetic.  My  mother  is  an  English- 
woman, but  she  sings  '  Dumfounder'd  the  English 
saw,  they  saw,'  with  the  greatest  fire  and  fury." 


XIII 

"  I  think  I  was  never  so  completely  under  the 
spell  of  a  country  as  I  am  of  Scotland."  I  made 
this  acknowledgment  freely,  but  I  knew  that  it 
would  provoke  comment  from  my  compatriots. 

11  Oh  yes,  my  dear,  you  have  been  just  as  spell- 
bound before,  only  you  don't  remember  it,"  re- 
plied Salemina  promptly.  "  I  have  never  seen  a 
person  more  perilously  appreciative  or  receptive 
than  you." 

"  '  Perilously '  is  just  the  word,"  chimed  in 
Francesca  delightedly;  "when  you  care  for  a 
place  you  grow  porous,  as  it  were,  until  after  a 
time  you  are  precisely  like  blotting-paper.  Now, 
there  was  Italy,  for  example.  After  eight  weeks 
in  Venice  you  were  completely  Venetian,  from 
your  fan  to  the  ridiculous  little  crepe  shawl  you 
wore  because  an  Italian  prince  had  told  you  that 
centuries  were  usually  needed  to  teach  a  woman 
how  to  wear  a  shawl,  but  that  you  had  been  born 
with  the  art,  and  the  shoulders  !  Anything  but 
a  watery  street  was  repulsive  to  you.  Cobble- 
stones ?  '  Ordinario,  diiro,  brutto  !  A  gondola  ? 
Ah,  bellissima !  Let  me  float  forever  thus  ! ' 
You  bathed  your  spirit  in  sunshine  and  color; 
I  can  hear  you  murmur  now,  '  O  Venezia  bene- 
detta  !  non  ti  voglio  lasciar  ! '  " 


Penelope's  Progress  125 

"  It  was  just  the  same  when  she  spent  a  month 
in  France  with  the  Baroness  de  Hautenoblesse," 
continued  Salemina.  "  When  she  returned  to 
America  it  is  no  flattery  to  say  that  in  dress,  at- 
titude, inflection,  manner,  she  was  a  thorough 
Parisienne.  There  was  an  elegant  superficiality 
and  a  superficial  elegance  about  her  that  I  can 
never  forget,  nor  yet  her  extraordinary  volubility 
in  a  foreign  language,  —  the  fluency  with  which 
she  expressed  her  inmost  soul  on  all  topics 
without  the  aid  of  a  single  irregular  verb,  for 
these  she  was  never  able  to  acquire ;  oh,  it  was 
wonderful,  but  there  was  no  affectation  about  it ; 
she  had  simply  been  a  kind  of  blotting-paper, 
as  Miss  Monroe  says,  and  France  had  written 
itself  all  over  her." 

"  I  don't  wish  to  interfere  with  anybody's 
diagnosis,"  I  interposed  at  the  first  possible 
moment,  "  but  perhaps  after  you  've  both  finished 
your  psychologic  investigation  the  subject  may 
be  allowed  to  explain  herself  from  the  inside,  so 
to  speak.  I  won't  deny  the  spell  of  Italy,  but  I 
think  the  spell  that  Scotland  casts  over  one  is 
quite  a  different  thing,  more  spiritual,  more  diffi- 
cult to  break.  Italy's  charm  has  something  phy- 
sical in  it ;  it  is  born  of  blue  sky,  sunlit  waves, 
soft  atmosphere,  orange  sails  and  yellow  moons, 
and  appeals  more  to  the  senses.  In  Scotland 
the  climate  certainly  has  naught  to  do  with  it, 
but  the  imagination  is  somehow  made  captive. 


126  Penelope  s  Progress 

I  am  not  enthralled  by  the  past  of  Italy  or 
France,  for  instance." 

"Of  course  you  are  not  at  the  present  mo- 
ment," said  Francesca,  "  because  you  are  en- 
thralled by  the  past  of  Scotland,  and  even  you 
cannot  be  the  slave  of  two  pasts  at  the  same 
time." 

"  I  never  was  particularly  enthralled  by  Italy's 
past,"  I  argued  with  exemplary  patience,  "but 
the  romance  of  Scotland  has  a  flavor  all  its  own. 
I  do  not  quite  know  the  secret  of  it." 

"  It 's  the  kilts  and  the  pipes,"  said  Francesca. 

"  No,  the  history."     (This  from  Salemina.) 

"  Or  Sir  Walter  and  the  literature,"  suggested 
Mr.  Macdonald. 

"  Or  the  songs  and  ballads,"  ventured  Jean 
Dalziel. 

"  There  !  "  I  exclaimed  triumphantly,  "  you  see 
for  yourselves  you  have  named  avenue  after  ave- 
nue along  which  one's  mind  is  led  in  charmed 
subjection.  Where  can  you  find  battles  that  kin- 
dle your  fancy  like  Falkirk  and  Flodden  and 
Culloden  and  Bannockburn  ?  Where  a  sovereign 
that  attracts,  bafTles,  repels,  allures,  like  Mary 
Queen  of  Scots,  —  and  where,  tell  me  where,  is 
there  a  Pretender  like  Bonnie  Prince  Charlie? 
Think  of  the  spirit  in  those  old  Scottish  matrons 
who  could  sing :  — 

*  I  '11  sell  my  rock,  I  '11  sell  my  reel, 
My  rippling-kame  and  spinning-wheel, 


Penelopes  Progress  127 

To  buy  my  lad  a  tartan  plaid, 

A  braid  sword,  durk,  and  white  cockade.' " 

"Yes,"  chimed  in  Salemina  when  I  had  fin- 
ished quoting,  "  or  that  other  verse  that  goes,  — 

'  I  ance  had  sons,  I  now  hae  nane, 

I  bare  them  toiling  sairlie ; 
But  I  would  bear  them  a'  again 
To  lose  them  a'  for  Charlie ! ' 

Is  n't  the  enthusiasm  almost  beyond  belief  at 
this  distance  of  time  ?  "  she  went  on  ;  "  and  is  n't 
it  a  curious  fact,  as  Mr.  Macdonald  told  me  a 
moment  ago,  that  though  the  whole  country  was 
vocal  with  songs  for  the  lost  cause  and  the  fallen 
race,  not  one  in  favor  of  the  victors  ever  became 
popular  ? " 

"  Sympathy  for  the  under  dog,  as  Miss  Mon- 
roe's countrywomen  would  say  picturesquely," 
remarked  Mr.  Macdonald. 

"  I  don't  see  why  all  the  vulgarisms  in  the 
dictionary  should  be  foisted  on  the  American 
girl,"  retorted  Francesca  loftily,  "  unless,  indeed, 
it  is  a  determined  attempt  to  find  spots  upon  the 
sun  for  fear  we  shall  worship  it !  " 

"  Quite  so,  quite  so  !  "  returned  the  Reverend 
Ronald,  who  has  had  reason  to  know  that  this 
phrase  reduces  Miss  Monroe  to  voiceless  rage. 

"The  Stuart  charm  and  personal  magnetism 
must  have  been  a  powerful  factor  in  all  that 
movement,"  said  Salemina,  plunging  hastily  back 
into  the  topic  to  avert  any  further  recrimination. 


128  Penelope  s  Progress 

"  I  suppose  we  feel  it  even  now,  and  if  I  had 
been  alive  in  1745  I  should  probably  have  made 
myself  ridiculous.  'Old  maiden  ladies,'  I  read 
this  morning,  '  were  the  last  leal  Jacobites  in  Ed- 
inburgh ;  spinsterhood  in  its  loneliness  remained 
ever  true  to  Prince  Charlie  and  the  vanished 
dreams  of  youth.'  " 

"  Yes,"  continued  the  Dominie,  "  the  story  is 
told  of  the  last  of  those  Jacobite  ladies  who 
never  failed  to  close  her  Prayer-Book  and  stand 
erect  in  silent  protest  when  the  prayer  for  ■  King 
George  III.  and  the  reigning  family '  was  read 
by  the  congregation." 

"  Do  you  remember  the  prayer  of  the  Rever- 
end Neil  McVicar  in  St.  Cuthbert's  ? "  asked  Mr. 
Macdonald.  "It  was  in  1745,  after  the  victory 
at  Prestonpans,  when  a  message  was  sent  to  the 
Edinburgh  ministers,  in  the  name  of  '  Charles, 
Prince  Regent,'  desiring  them  to  open  their 
churches  next  day  as  usual.  McVicar  preached 
to  a  large  congregation,  many  of  whom  were 
armed  Highlanders,  and  prayed  for  George  II., 
and  also  for  Charles  Edward,  in  the  following 
fashion  :  '  Bless  the  king !  Thou  knowest  what 
king  I  mean.  May  the  crown  sit  long  upon  his 
head  !  As  for  that  young  man  who  has  come 
among  us  to  seek  an  earthly  crown,  we  beseech 
Thee  to  take  him  to  Thyself  and  give  him  a 
crown  of  glory  ! '  " 

"  Ah,  what  a  pity  the  Bonnie  Prince  had  not 


Penelope  s  Progress  129 

died  after  his  meteor  victory  at  Falkirk  ! "  ex- 
claimed Jean  Dalziel,  when  we  had  finished 
laughing  at  Mr.  Macdon aid's  story. 

"  Or  at  Culloden,  '  where,  quenched  in  blood 
on  the  Muir  of  Drummossie,  the  star  of  the 
Stuarts  sank  forever/ "  quoted  the  Dominie. 
"  There  is  where  his  better  self  died  ;  would  that 
the  young  Chevalier  had  died  with  it !  By  the 
way,  doctor,  we  must  not  sit  here  eating  goodies 
and  sipping  tea  until  the  dinner-hour,  for  these 
ladies  have  doubtless  much  to  do  for  their  flit- 
ting "  (a  pretty  Scots  word  for  "  moving  "). 

"  We  are  quite  ready  for  our  flitting  so  far  as 
packing  is  concerned,"  Salemina  assured  him. 
"  Would  that  we  were  as  ready  in  spirit !  Miss 
Hamilton  has  even  written  her  farewell  poem, 
which  I  am  sure  she  will  read  for  the  asking." 

"  She  will  read  it  without  that  formality," 
murmured  Francesca.  "  She  has  lived  and  toiled 
only  for  this  moment,  and  the  poem  is  in  her 
pocket." 

"  Delightful !  "  said  the  doctor  flatteringly. 
"  Has  she  favored  you  already  ?  Have  you 
heard  it,  Miss  Monroe  ?  " 

"  Have  we  heard  it ! "  ejaculated  that  young 
person.  "We  have  heard  nothing  else  all  the 
morning !  What  you  will  take  for  local  color  is 
nothing  but  our  mental  life-blood,  which  she  has 
mercilessly  drawn  to  stain  her  verses.  We  each 
tried  to  write  a  Scottish  poem,  and  as  Miss  Ham- 


130  Penelope  s  Progress 

ilton's  was  better,  or  perhaps  I  might  say  less 
bad,  than  ours,  we  encouraged  her  to  develop 
and  finish  it.  I  wanted  to  do  an  imitation  of 
Lindsay's 

'  Adieu,  Edinburgh  !  thou  heich  triumphant  town, 
Within  whose  bounds  richt  blithefull  have  I  been !  • 

but  it  proved  too  difficult.  Miss  Hamilton's  gen- 
eral idea  was  that  we  should  write  some  verses 
in  good  plain  English.  Then  we  were  to  take 
out  all  the  final  g's,  and  indeed  the  final  letters 
from  all  the  words  wherever  it  was  possible,  so 
that  full,  awful,  call,  ball,  hall,  and  away  should 
be  fu* ,  awfrf  ,  co? ,  ba'  ,  ha' ,  an  *  awa ' .  This 
alone  gives  great  charm  and  character  to  a 
poem  j  but  we  were  also  to  change  all  words 
ending  in  ow  into  aw.  This  does  n't  injure  the 
verse,  you  see,  as  blaw  and  snaw  rhyme  just  as 
well  as  blow  and  snow,  beside  bringing  tears  to 
the  common  eye  with  their  poetic  associations. 
Similarly,  if  we  had  daughter  and  slaughter,  we 
were  to  write  them  dochter  and  slauchter,  substi- 
tuting in  all  cases  doon,  froon,  goon,  and  toon,  for 
down,  frown,  gown,  and  town.  Then  we  made  a 
list  of  Scottish  idols,  —  pet  words,  national  insti- 
tutions, stock  phrases,  beloved  objects,  —  con- 
vinced if  we  could  weave  them  in  we  should 
attain  '  atmosphere.'  Here  is  the  first  list ;  it 
lengthened  speedily  :  thistle,  tartan,  haar,  haggis, 
kirk,  claymore,  parritch,  broom,  whin,  sporran, 
whaup,   plaid,    scone,    collops,    whiskey,   mutch, 


Penelopes  Progi'ess  131 

cairngorm,  oatmeal,  brae,  kilt,  brose,  heather. 
Salemina  and  I  were  too  devoted  to  common 
sense  to  succeed  in  this  weaving  process,  so  Pe- 
nelope triumphed  and  won  the  first  prize,  both 
for  that  and  also  because  she  brought  in  a  say- 
ing given  us  by  Miss  Dalziel,  about  the  social 
classification  of  all  Scotland  into  ■  the  gentlemen 
of  the  North,  men  of  the  South,  people  of  the 
West,  fowk  o'  Fife,  and  the  Paisley  bodies.'  We 
think  that  her  success  came  chiefly  from  her 
writing  the  verses  with  a  Scotch  plaid  lead-pen- 
cil. What  effect  the  absorption  of  so  much  red, 
blue,  and  green  paint  will  have  I  cannot  fancy, 
but  she  ate  off  —  and  up  —  all  the  tartan  glaze 
before  finishing  the  poem ;  it  had  a  wonderfully 
stimulating  effect,  but  the  end  is  not  yet ! " 

Of  course  there  was  a  chorus  of  laughter  when 
the  young  wretch  exhibited  my  battered  pencil, 
bought  in  Princes  Street  yesterday,  its  gay  Gor- 
don tints  sadly  disfigured  by  the  destroying 
tooth,  not  of  Time,  but  of  a  bard  in  the  throes 
of  composition. 

"We  bestowed  a  consolation  prize  on  Sale- 
mina," continued  Francesca,  "because  she  suc- 
ceeded in  getting  hoots,  losh,  havers,  and  blathers 
into  one  line,  but  naturally  she  could  not  main- 
tain such  an  ideal  standard.  Read  your  verses, 
Pen,  though  there  is  little  hope  that  our  friends 
will  enjoy  them  as  much  as  you  do.  Whenever 
Miss  Hamilton  writes  anything  of  this  kind,  she 


132  Penelope  s  Progress 

emulates  her  distinguished  ancestor  Sir  William 
Hamilton,  who  always  fell  off  his  own  chair  in 
fits  of  laughter  when  he  was  composing  verses." 
With  this  inspiring  introduction  I  read  my 
lines  as  follows  :  — 


AN    AMERICAN    LADY'S     FAREWELL    TO    EDIN- 
BURGH 

THE    MUSE    BEING    SOMEWHAT     UNDER    THE   INFLUENCE   OF 
THE   SCOTTISH    BALLAD 

I  canna  thole  my  ain  toun, 
Sin'  I  hae  dwelt  i'  this  ; 
To  bide  in  Edinboro'  reek, 
Wad  be  the  tap  o'  bliss. 
Yon  bonnie  plaid  aboot  me  hap, 
The  skirlin'  pipes  gae  bring, 
With  thistles  fair  tie  up  my  hair, 
While  I  of  Scotia  sing. 

The  collops  an'  the  cairngorms, 

The  haggis  an'  the  whin, 

The  'Stablished,  Free,  an'  U.  P.  kirks, 

The  hairt  convinced  o'  sin,  — 

The  parritch  an'  the  heather-bell, 

The  snawdrap  on  the  shaw, 

The  bit  lam's  bleatin'  on  the  braes,  — 

How  can  I  leave  them  a'  1 

How  can  I  leave  the  marmalade 
An'  bonnets  o'  Dundee  ? 
The  haar,  the  haddies,  an'  the  brose, 
The  East  win'  blawin'  free ! 
How  can  I  lay  my  sporran  by, 
An'  sit  me  doun  at  hame, 
Wi'oot  a  Hieland  philabeg 
Or  hyphenated  name  ? 


Penelopes  Progress  133 

I  lo'e  the  gentry  o'  the  North, 

The  Southern  men  I  lo'e, 

The  canty  people  o'  the  West, 

The  Paisley  bodies  too. 

The  pawky  fowk  o'  Fife  are  dear,  — 

Sae  dear  are  ane  an'  a' , 

That  e'en  to  think  that  we  maun  pairt 

Maist  braks  my  hairt  in  twa. 

So  fetch  me  tartans,  heather,  scones, 

An'  dye  my  tresses  red  ; 

I  'd  deck  me  like  th'  unconquer'd  Scots 

Wha  hae  wi'  Wallace  bled. 

Then  bind  my  claymore  to  my  side, 

My  kilt  an'  mutch  gae  bring  ; 

While  Scottish  lays  soun'  i'  my  lugs 

McKinley  's  no  my  king,  — 

For  Charlie,  bonnie  Stuart  Prince, 

Has  turned  me  Jacobite  ; 

I  'd  wear  displayed  the  white  cockade, 

An'  (whiles)  for  him  I  'd  fight ! 

An'  (whiles)  I  'd  fight  for  a'  that 's  Scotch, 

Save  whuskey  an'  oatmeal, 

For  wi'  their  ballads  i'  my  bluid, 

Nae  Scot  could  be  mair  leal ! 

I  fancied  that  I  had  pitched  my  verses  in  so 
high  a  key  that  no  one  could  mistake  their  bur- 
lesque intention.  What  was  my  confusion,  how- 
ever, to  have  one  of  the  company  remark  when  I 
finished,  "  Extremely  pretty ;  but  a  mutch,  you 
know,  is  an  article  of  woman's  apparel." 

Mr.  Macdonald  flung  himself  gallantly  into  the 
breach.  He  is  such  a  dear  fellow !  So  quick,  so 
discriminating,  so  warm-hearted  ! 

"Don't  pick  flaws  in  Miss  Hamilton's  finest 


134  Penelope  s  Progress 

line  !  That  picture  of  a  fair  American,  clad  in  a 
kilt  and  mutch,  decked  in  heather  and  scones, 
and  brandishing  a  claymore,  will  live  forever  in 
my  memory.  Don't  clip  the  wings  of  her  imagi- 
nation !  You  will  be  telling  her  soon  that  one 
does  n't  tie  one's  hair  with  thistles,  nor  couple 
collops  with  cairngorms." 

Somebody  sent  Francesca  a  great  bunch  of 
yellow  broom,  late  that  afternoon.  There  was 
no  name  in  the  box,  she  said,  but  at  night  she 
wore  the  odorous  tips  in  the  bosom  of  her  black 
dinner-gown,  and  standing  erect  in  her  dark  hair 
like  golden  aigrettes. 

When  she  came  into  my  room  to  say  good- 
night, she  laid  the  pretty  frock  in  one  of  my 
trunks,  which  was  to  be  filled  with  the  garments 
of  fashionable  society  and  left  behind  in  Edin- 
burgh. The  next  moment  I  chanced  to  look  on 
the  floor,  and  discovered  a  little  card,  a  bent  card, 
with  two  lines  written  on  it :  — 

"  Better  lo'ed  ye  canna  be, 
Will  ye  no  come  back  again  ?  " 

We  have  received  many  invitations  in  that  hand- 
writing. I  know  it  well,  and  so  does  Francesca, 
though  it  is  blurred ;  and  the  reason  for  this,  ac- 
cording to  my  way  of  thinking,  is  that  it  has  been 
lying  next  the  moist  stems  of  flowers,  and,  un- 
less I  do  her  wrong,  very  near  to  somebody's 
warm  heart  as  well. 

I  will  not  betray  her  to  Salemina,  even  to  gain 


Penelope's  Progress  135 

a  victory  over  that  blind  and  deaf  but  much 
beloved  woman.  How  could  I,  with  my  heart 
beating  high  at  the  thought  of  seeing  my  ain  dear 
laddie  before  many  days  ! 

"  Oh,  love,  love,  lassie, 
Love  is  like  a  dizziness  : 
It  winna  let  a  puir  body 
Gang  aboot  his  business." 


PART   SECOND.    IN   THE   COUNTRY 

XIV 

u  Now  she  's  cast  aff  her  bonny  shoon 
Made  o'  gilded  leather, 
And  she 's  put  on  her  Hieland  brogues 

To  skip  amang  the  heather. 
And  she 's  cast  aff  her  bonny  goon 

Made  o'  the  silk  and  satin, 

And  she 's  put  on  a  tartan  plaid 

To  row  amang  the  braken." 

Lizzie  Baillie. 

We  are  in  the  East  Neuk  o'  Fife ;  we  are  in 
Pettybaw ;  we  are  neither  boarders  nor  lodgers  ; 
we  are  residents,  inhabitants,  householders,  and 
we  live  (live,  mind  you)  in  a  wee  theekit  hoosie 
in  the  old  loaning.  Words  fail  to  tell  you  how 
absolutely  Scotch  we  are  and  how  blissfully 
happy.  It  is  a  happiness,  I  assure  you,  achieved 
through  great  tribulation.  Salemina  and  I  trav- 
eled many  miles  in  railway  trains,  and  many  in 
various  other  sorts  of  wheeled  vehicles,  while  the 
ideal  ever  beckoned  us  onward.  I  was  deter- 
mined to  find  a  romantic  lodging,  Salemina  a 
comfortable  one,  and  this  special  combination  of 
virtues  is  next  to  impossible,  as  every  one  knows. 
Linghurst  was  too  much  of  a  town ;  Bonnie  Craig 


138  Penelopes  Progress 

had  no  respectable  inn  ;  Whinnybrae  was  strug- 
gling to  be  a  watering-place  ;  Broomlea  had  no 
golf  course  within  ten  miles,  and  we  intended  to 
go  back  to  our  native  land  and  win  silver  goblets 
in  mixed  foursomes  ;  the  "  new  toun  o'  Fairloch  " 
(which  looked  centuries  old)  was  delightful,  but 
we  could  not  find  apartments  there  ;  Pinkie  Leith 
was  nice,  but  they  were  tearing  up  the  "fore 
street"  and  laying  drain-pipes  in  it.  Strathdee 
had  been  highly  recommended,  but  it  rained 
when  we  were  in  Strathdee,  and  nobody  can  de- 
liberately settle  in  a  place  where  it  rains  during 
the  process  of  deliberation.  No  train  left  this 
moist  and  dripping  hamlet  for  three  hours,  so 
we  took  a  covered  trap  and  drove  onward  in 
melancholy  mood.  Suddenly  the  clouds  lifted 
and  the  rain  ceased;  the  driver  thought  we 
should  be  having  settled  weather  now,  and  put 
back  the  top  of  the  carriage,  saying  meanwhile 
that  it  was  a  verra  dry  simmer  this  year,  and  that 
the  crops  sairly  needed  shoo'rs. 

"  Of  course,  if  there  is  any  district  in  Scotland 
where  for  any  reason  droughts  are  possible,  that 
is  where  we  wish  to  settle,"  I  whispered  to  Sale- 
mina;  "though,  so  far  as  I  can  see,  the  Strath- 
dee crops  are  up  to  their  knees  in  mud.  Here 
is  another  wee  village.  What  is  this  place, 
driver  ? " 

"  Pettybaw,  mam  ;  a  fine  toun  ! " 

"  Will  there  be  apartments  to  let  there  ?  " 


Penelopes  Progress  139 

"  I  couldna  say,  mam." 

"  Susanna  Crum's  father !  How  curious  that 
he  should  live  here  ! "  I  murmured ;  and  at  this 
moment  the  sun  came  out,  and  shone  full,  or  at 
least  almost  full,  on  our  future  home. 

"  Pettybaw  !  Petit  dot's,  I  suppose,"  said  Sale- 
mina ;  "  and  there,  to  be  sure,  it  is,  —  the  '  little 
wood '  yonder." 

We  drove  to  the  Pettybaw  Inn  and  Posting 
Establishment,  and,  alighting,  dismissed  the  dri- 
ver. We  had  still  three  good  hours  of  daylight, 
although  it  was  five  o'clock,  and  we  refreshed 
ourselves  with  a  delicious  cup  of  tea  before  look- 
ing for  lodgings.  We  consulted  the  greengrocer, 
the  baker,  and  the  flesher,  about  furnished  apart- 
ments, and  started  on  our  quest,  not  regarding 
the  little  posting  establishment  as  a  possibility. 
Apartments  we  found  to  be  very  scarce,  and  in 
one  or  two  places  that  were  quite  suitable  the 
landlady  refused  to  do  any  cooking.  We  wan- 
dered from  house  to  house,  the  sun  shining 
brighter  and  brighter,  and  Pettybaw  looking  love- 
lier and  lovelier  ;  and  as  we  were  refused  shelter 
again  and  again,  we  grew  more  and  more  enam- 
ored, as  is  the  manner  of  human  kind.  The  blue 
sea  sparkled,  and  Pettybaw  Sands  gleamed  white 
a  mile  or  two  in  the  distance,  the  pretty  stone 
church  raised  its  carved  spire  from  the  green 
trees,  the  manse  next  door  was  hidden  in  vines, 
the  sheep  lay  close  to  the  gray  stone  walls  and 


140  Penelope  s  Progress 

the  young  lambs  nestled  close  beside  them,  while 
the  song  of  the  burn,  tinkling  merrily  down  the 
glade  on  the  edge  of  which  we  stood,  and  the 
cawing  of  the  rooks  in  the  little  wood,  were  the 
only  sounds  to  be  heard. 

Salemina,  under  the  influence  of  this  sylvan 
solitude,  nobly  declared  that  she  could  and  would 
do  without  a  set  bath-tub,  and  proposed  building 
a  cabin  and  living  near  to  nature's  heart. 

"  I  think,  on  the  whole,  we  should  be  more 
comfortable  living  near  to  the  inn  -  keeper's 
heart,"  I  answered.  "  Let  us  go  back  there  and 
pass  the  night,  trying  thus  the  bed  and  breakfast, 
with  a  view  to  seeing  what  they  are  like,  —  though 
they  did  say  in  Edinburgh  that  nobody  thinks  of 
living  in  these  wayside  hostelries." 

Back  we  went,  accordingly,  and  after  ordering 
dinner  came  out  and  strolled  idly  up  the  main 
street.  A  small  sign  in  the  draper's  window, 
heretofore  overlooked,  caught  our  eye.  "  House 
and  Garden  To  Let.  Inquire  Within."  Inquir- 
ing within  with  all  possible  speed,  we  found  the 
draper  selling  winseys,  the  draper's  assistant 
tidying  the  ribbon-box,  the  draper's  wife  sewing 
in  one  corner,  and  the  draper's  baby  playing  on 
the  clean  floor.  We  were  impressed  favorably, 
and  entered  into  negotiations  without  delay. 

"  The  house  will  be  in  the  loaning ;  do  you 
mind,  ma'am  ? "  asked  the  draper.  (We  have 
long  since  discovered  that  this  use  of  the  verb  is 


Penelope  s  Progress  141 

a  bequest  from  the  Gaelic,  in  which  there  is  no 
present  tense.  Man  never  is,  but  always  to  be 
blessed,  in  that  language,  which  in  this  particular 
is  not  unlike  old-fashioned  Calvinism.) 

We  went  out  of  the  back  door  and  down  the 
green  loaning,  until  we  came  to  the  wee  stone 
cottage  in  which  the  draper  himself  lives  most 
of  the  year,  retiring  for  the  warmer  months  to 
the  back  of  his  shop,  and  eking  out  a  comfort- 
able income  by  renting  his  hearthstone  to  the 
summer  visitor. 

The  thatched  roof  on  the  wing  that  formed  the 
kitchen  attracted  my  artist's  eye,  and  we  went  in 
to  examine  the  interior,  which  we  found  surpris- 
ingly attractive.  There  was  a  tiny  sitting-room, 
with  a  fireplace  and  a  microscopic  piano  ;  a  din- 
ing-room adorned  with  portraits  of  relatives  who 
looked  nervous  when  they  met  my  eye,  for  they 
knew  that  they  would  be  turned  face  to  the  wall 
on  the  morrow;  four  bedrooms,  a  kitchen,  and 
a  back  garden  so  filled  with  vegetables  and 
flowers  that  we  exclaimed  with  astonishment  and 
admiration. 

"  But  we  cannot  keep  house  in  Scotland,"  ob- 
jected Salemina.  "  Think  of  the  care !  And 
what  about  the  servants  ?  " 

"  Why  not  eat  at  the  inn  ? "  I  suggested. 
"  Think  of  living  in  a  real  loaning,  Salemina ! 
Look  at  the  stone  floor  in  the  kitchen,  and  the 
adorable  stuffy  box-bed  in  the  wall !     Look  at 


142  Penelope  s  Progress 

the  bust  of  Sir  Walter  in  the  hall,  and  the  chromo 
of  Melrose  Abbey  by  moonlight !  Look  at  the 
lintel  over  the  front  door,  with  a  ship,  moon, 
stars,  and  1602  carved  in  the  stone  !  What  is 
food  to  all  this  ?  " 

Salemina  agreed  that  it  was  hardly  worth  con- 
sidering ;  and  in  truth  so  many  landladies  had 
refused  to  receive  her  as  a» tenant  that  day,  that 
her  spirits  were  rather  low,  and  she  was  un- 
commonly flexible. 

"  It  is  the  lintel  and  the  back  garden  that 
rents  the  hoose,"  remarked  the  draper  compla- 
cently in  broad  Scotch  that  I  cannot  reproduce. 
He  is  a  house-agent  as  well  as  a  draper,  and 
went  on  to  tell  us  that  when  he  had  a  cottage  he 
could  rent  in  no  other  way  he  planted  plenty  of 
creepers  in  front  of  it.  "  The  baker's  hoose  is  no 
sae  bonnie,"  he  said,  "  and  the  linen  and  cutlery 
verra  scanty,  but  there  is  a  yellow  laburnum 
growin'  by  the  door :  the  leddies  see  that,  and 
forget  to  ask  aboot  the  linen.  It  depends  a 
good  bit  on  the  weather,  too  ;  it  is  easy  to  let 
a  hoose  when  the  sun  shines  upon  it." 

"  We  hardly  dare  undertake  regular  housekeep- 
ing," I  said ;  "  do  your  tenants  ever  take  meals 
at  the  inn  ?  " 

"  I  couldna  say,  mam."  (Dear,  dear,  the 
Crums  are  a  large  family !) 

"  If  we  did  that,  we  should  still  need  a  servant 
to  keep  the  house  tidy,"  said  Salemina,  as  we 


Penelope  s  Progress  143 

walked  away.  "Perhaps  housemaids  are  to  be 
had,  though  not  nearer  than  Edinburgh,  I  fancy." 

This  gave  me  an  idea,  and  I  slipped  over  to 
the  post-office  while  Salemina  was  preparing  for 
dinner,  and  dispatched  a  telegram  to  Mrs.  M'Col- 
lop  at  Breadalbane  Terrace,  asking  her  if  she 
could  send  a  reliable  general  servant  to  us,  ca- 
pable of  cooking  simple  breakfasts  and  caring  for 
a  house. 

We  had  scarcely  finished  our  Scotch  broth, 
fried  haddies,  mutton-chops,  and  rhubarb  tart 
when  I  received  an  answer  from  Mrs.  M'Collop 
to  the  effect  that  her  sister's  husband's  niece, 
Jane  Grieve,  could  join  us  on  the  morrow  if  de- 
sired. The  relationship  was  an  interesting  fact, 
though  we  scarcely  thought  the  information 
worth  the  additional  threepence  we  paid  for  it  in 
the  telegram ;  however,  Mrs.  M'Collop's  com- 
fortable assurance,  together  with  the  quality  of 
the  rhubarb  tart  and  mutton-chops,  brought  us 
to  a  decision.  Before  going  to  sleep  we  rented 
the  draper's  house,  named  it  Bide-a-Wee  Cottage, 
engaged  daily  luncheons  and  dinners  for  three 
persons  at  the  Pettybaw  Inn  and  Posting  Estab- 
lishment, telegraphed  to  Edinburgh  for  Jane 
Grieve,  to  Callender  for  Francesca,  and  dis- 
patched a  letter  to  Paris  for  Mr.  Beresford,  tell- 
ing him  we  had  taken  a  "  wee  theekit  hoosie  " 
and  that  the  "  yett  was  ajee  "  whenever  he  chose 
to  come. 


144  Penelope  s  Progress 

"  Possibly  it  would  have  been  wiser  not  to 
send  for  them  until  we  were  settled,"  I  said  re- 
flectively. "  Jane  Grieve  may  not  prove  a  suit- 
able person." 

"  The  name  somehow  sounds  too  young  and 
inexperienced,"  observed  Salemina,  "  and  what 
association  have  I  with  the  phrase  ■  sister's  hus- 
band's niece  '  ?  " 

"  You  have  heard  me  quote  Lewis  Carroll's 
verse,  perhaps :  — 

1  He  thought  he  saw  a  buffalo 

Upon  the  chimney-piece ; 

He  looked  again  and  found  it  was 

His  sister's  husband's  niece  : 
"  Unless  you  leave  the  house,"  he  said, 
"  I  '11  send  for  the  police  !  " ' 

The  only  thing  that  troubles  me,"  I  went  on,  "  is 
the  question  of  Willie  Beresford's  place  of  resi- 
dence. He  expects  to  be  somewhere  within  easy 
walking  or  cycling  distance,  —  four  or  five  miles 
at  most." 

"  He  won't  be  desolate  even  if  he  does  n't  have 
a  thatched  roof,  a  pansy  garden,  and  a  blossoming 
shrub,"  said  Salemina  sleepily,  for  our  business 
arrangements  and  discussions  had  lasted  well 
into  the  evening.  "  What  he  will  want  is  a  lodg- 
ing where  he  can  have  frequent  sight  and  speech 
of  you.  How  I  dread  him !  How  I  resent  his 
sharing  of  you  with  us !  I  don't  know  why  I  use 
the  word  ■  sharing,'  forsooth  !     There  is  nothing 


Penelope  s  Progress  145 

half  so  fair  and  just  in  his  majesty's  greedy- 
mind.  Well,  it 's  the  way  of  the  world  ;  only  it  is 
odd,  with  the  universe  of  women  to  choose  from, 
that  he  must  needs  take  you.  Strathdee  seems 
the  most  desirable  place  for  him,  if  he  has  a 
mackintosh  and  rubber  boots.  Inchcaldy  is  an- 
other town  near  here  that  we  did  n't  see  at  all, 
—  that  might  do  ;  the  draper's  wife  says  that  we 
can  send  fine  linen  to  the  laundry  there." 

"  Inchcaldy  ?  Oh  yes,  I  think  we  heard  of  it 
in  Edinburgh  —  at  least  I  have  some  association 
with  the  name  :  it  has  a  fine  golf  course,  I  be- 
lieve, and  very  likely  we  ought  to  have  looked  at 
it,  though  for  my  part  I  have  no  regrets.  Nothing 
can  equal  Pettybaw ;  and  I  am  so  pleased  to  be 
a  Scottish  householder !  Are  n't  we  just  like 
Bessie  Bell  and  Mary  Gray  ? 

1  They  were  twa  bonnie  lassies ; 
They  biggit  a  bower  on  yon  burnbrae, 
An'  theekit  it  ower  wi'  rashes.' 

Think  of  our  stone-floored  kitchen,  Salemina! 
Think  of  the  real  box-bed  in  the  wall  for  little 
Jane  Grieve !  She  will  have  red-gold  hair,  blue 
eyes,  and  a  pink  cotton  gown.  Think  of  our 
own  cat !  Think  how  Francesca  will  admire  the 
1602  lintel !  Think  of  our  back  garden,  with  our 
own  '  neeps '  and  vegetable  marrows  growing  in 
it !  Think  how  they  will  envy  us  at  home  when 
they  learn  that  we  have  settled  down  into  Scottish 
yeowomen ! 


146  Penelope  s  Progress 

•  It 's  oh,  for  a  patch  of  land ! 
It  's  oh,  for  a  patch  of  land ! 
Of  all  the  blessings  tongue  can  name, 
There  's  nane  like  a  patch  of  land! ' 

Think  of  Willie  coming  to  step  on  the  floor  and 
look  at  the  bed  and  stroke  the  cat  and  covet  the 
lintel  and  walk  in  the  garden  and  weed  the  tur- 
nips and  pluck  the  marrows  that  grow  by  our  ain 
wee  theekit  hoosie  !  " 

"  Penelope,  you  appear  slightly  intoxicated ! 
Do  close  the  window  and  come  to  bed." 

"  I  am  intoxicated  with  the  caller  air  of  Petty- 
baw,"  I  rejoined,  leaning  on  the  window-sill  and 
looking  at  the  stars,  while  I  thought :  "  Edinburgh 
was  beautiful ;  it  is  the  most  beautiful  gray  city 
in  the  world ;  it  lacked  one  thing  only  to  make  it 
perfect,  and  Pettybaw  will  have  that  before  many 
moons. 

'  Oh,  Willie 's  rare  an'  Willie  's  fair 
An'  Willie  's  wondrous  bonny ; 
An'  Willie  's  hecht  to  marry  me 
Gin  e'er  he  marries  ony. 

'  O  gentle  wind  that  bloweth  south, 
From  where  my  love  repaireth, 
Convey  a  word  from  his  dear  mouth, 
An'  tell  me  how  he  fareth.'  " 


XV 

"  Gae  tak'  awa'  the  china  plates, 
Gae  tak'  them  far  frae  me ; 
And  bring  to  me  a  wooden  dish, 
It 's  that  I  'm  best  used  wi\ 
And  tak'  awa'  thae  siller  spoons 
The  like  I  ne'er  did  see, 
And  bring  to  me  the  horn  cutties, 
They  're  good  eneugh  for  me." 

Earl  Richard's  Wedding. 

The  next  day  was  one  of  the  most  cheerful 
and  one  of  the  most  fatiguing  that  I  ever  spent. 
Salemina  and  I  moved  every  article  of  furniture 
in  our  wee  theekit  hoosie  from  the  place  where  it 
originally  stood  to  another  and  a  better  place : 
arguing,  of  course,  over  the  precise  spot  it  should 
occupy,  which  was  generally  upstairs  if  the  thing 
were  already  down,  or  downstairs  if  it  were  al- 
ready up.  We  hid  all  the  more  hideous  orna- 
ments of  the  draper's  wife,  and  folded  away  her 
most  objectionable  tidies  and  table-covers,  re- 
placing them  with  our  own  pretty  draperies. 
There  were  only  two  pictures  in  the  sitting-room, 
and  as  an  artist  I  would  not  have  parted  with 
them  for  worlds.  The  first  was  The  Life  of  a 
Fireman,  which  could  only  remind  one  of  the 
explosion  of  a  mammoth  tomato,  and  the  other 


148  Penelope's  Progress 

was  The  Spirit  of  Poetry  Calling  Burns  from  the 
Plough.  Burns  wore  white  knee-breeches,  mili- 
tary boots,  a  splendid  waistcoat  with  lace  ruffles, 
and  carried  a  cocked  hat.  To  have  been  so 
dressed  he  must  have  known  the  Spirit  was  in- 
tending to  come.  The  plough-horse  was  a  mag- 
nificent Arabian,  whose  tail  swept  the  freshly 
furrowed  earth,  while  the  Spirit  of  Poetry  was 
issuing  from  a  practicable  wigwam  on  the  left, 
and  was  a  lady  of  such  ample  dimensions  that  no 
poet  would  have  dared  say  "  no  "  when  she  called 
him. 

The  dining  -  room  was  blighted  by  framed 
photographs  of  the  draper's  relations  and  the 
draper's  wife's  relations  ;  all  uniformly  ugly.  (It 
seems  strange  that  married  couples  having  the 
least  beauty  to  bequeath  to  their  offspring  should 
persist  in  having  the  largest  families.)  These 
ladies  and  gentlemen  were  too  numerous  to 
remove,  so  we  obscured  them  with  trailing 
branches;  reflecting  that  we  only  breakfasted 
in  the  room,  and  the  morning  meal  is  easily 
digested  when  one  lives  in  the  open  air.  We 
arranged  flowers  everywhere,  and  bought  potted 
plants  at  a  little  nursery  hard  by.  We  appor- 
tioned the  bedrooms,  giving  Francesca  the  hard- 
est bed,  —  as  she  is  the  youngest,  and  wasn't 
here  to  choose,  —  me  the  next  hardest,  and  Sale- 
mina  the  best ;  Francesca  the  largest  looking- 
glass  and  wardrobe,  me  the  best  view,  and  Sale- 


Penelope  s  Progress  149 

mina  the  biggest  bath.  We  bought  housekeeping 
stores,  distributing  our  patronage  equally  be- 
tween the  two  grocers ;  we  purchased  aprons  and 
dusters  from  the  rival  drapers,  engaged  bread 
and  rolls  from  the  baker,  milk  and  cream  from 
the  plumber,  who  keeps  three  cows,  interviewed 
the  flesher  about  chops ;  in  fact,  no  young  couple 
facing  love  in  a  cottage  ever  had  a  busier  or  hap- 
pier time  than  we ;  and  at  sundown,  when  Fran- 
cesca  arrived,  we  were  in  the  pink  of  order, 
standing  under  our  own  lintel,  ready  to  welcome 
her  to  Pettybaw.  As  to  being  strangers  in  a 
strange  land,  we  had  a  bowing  acquaintance  with 
everybody  on  the  main  street  of  the  tiny  village, 
and  were  on  terms  of  considerable  intimacy  with 
half  a  dozen  families,  including  dogs  and  babies. 
Francesca  was  delighted  with  everything,  from 
the  station  (Pettybaw  Sands,  two  miles  away)  to 
Jane  Grieve's  name,  which  she  thought  as  per- 
fect, in  its  way,  as  Susanna  Crum's.  She  had 
purchased  a  "  tirling-pin,"  that  old-time  precur- 
sor of  knockers  and  bells,  at  an  antique  shop  in 
Oban,  and  we  fastened  it  on  the  front  door  at 
once,  taking  turns  at  risping  it  until  our  own 
nerves  were  shattered,  and  the  draper's  wife  ran 
down  the  loaning  to  see  if  we  were  in  need  of 
anything.  The  twisted  bar  of  iron  stands  out 
from  the  door  and  the  ring  is  drawn  up  and  down 
over  a  series  of  nicks,  making  a  rasping  noise. 
The  lovers  and  ghaists  in  the  old  ballads  always 


150  Penelope's  Progress 

"  tided  at  the  pin,"  you  remember ;  that  is, 
touched  it  gently. 

Francesca  brought  us  letters  from  Edinburgh, 
and  what  was  my  joy,  in  opening  Willie's,  to 
learn  that  he  begged  us  to  find  a  place  in  Fife- 
shire,  and  as  near  St.  Rules  or  Strathdee  as  con- 
venient ;  for  in  that  case  he  could  accept  an 
invitation  he  had  just  received  to  visit  his  friend 
Robin  Anstruther,  at  Rowardennan  Castle. 

"  It  is  not  the  visit  at  the  castle  I  wish  so 
much,  you  may  be  sure,"  he  wrote,  "  as  the  fact 
that  Lady  Ardmore  will  make  everything  plea- 
sant for  you.  You  will  like  my  friend  Robin 
Anstruther,  who  is  Lady  Ardmore's  youngest 
brother,  and  who  is  going  to  her  to  be  nursed 
and  coddled  after  a  baddish  accident  in  the  hunt- 
ing-field. He  is  very  sweet-tempered,  and  will 
get  on  well  with  Francesca  "  — 

"I  don't  see  the  connection,"  rudely  inter- 
rupted that  spirited  young  person. 

"  I  suppose  she  has  more  room  on  her  list  in 
the  country  than  she  had  in  Edinburgh  ;  but  if 
my  remembrance  serves  me,  she  always  enrolls 
a  goodly  number  of  victims,  whether  she  has  any 
immediate  use  for  them  or  not." 

"  Mr.  Beresford's  manners  have  not  been  im- 
proved by  his  residence  in  Paris,"  observed 
Francesca,  with  resentment  in  her  tone  and  de- 
light in  her  eye. 

"Mr.  Beresford's  manners  are  always  perfect," 


Penelopes  Progress  151 

said  Salemina  loyally,  "  and  I  have  no  doubt  that 
this  visit  to  Lady  Ardmore  will  be  extremely 
pleasant  for  him,  though  very  embarrassing  to  us. 
If  we  are  thrown  into  forced  intimacy  with  a 
castle "  (Salemina  spoke  of  it  as  if  it  had  fangs 
and  a  lashing  tail),  "what  shall  we  do  in  this 
draper's  hut  ? " 

"  Salemina  !  "  I  expostulated,  "  the  bears  will 
devour  you  as  they  did  the  ungrateful  child  in 
the  fairy-tale.  I  wonder  at  your  daring  to  use  the 
word  'hut'  in  connection  with  our  wee  theekit 
hoosie  ! " 

"  They  will  never  understand  that  we  are  doing 
all  this  for  the  novelty  of  it,"  she  objected.  "  The 
Scottish  nobility  and  gentry  probably  never  think 
of  renting  a  house  for  a  joke.  Imagine  Lord  and 
Lady  Ardmore,  the  young  Ardmores,  Robin  An- 
struther,  and  Willie  Beresford  calling  upon  us  in 
this  sitting-room  1  We  ourselves  would  have  to 
sit  in  the  hall  and  talk  in  through  the  doorway." 

"  All  will  be  well,"  Francesca  assured  her 
soothingly.  "  We  shall  be  pardoned  much  be- 
cause we  are  Americans,  and  will  not  be  expected 
to  know  any  better.  Besides,  the  gifted  Miss 
Hamilton  is  an  artist,  and  that  covers  a  multi- 
tude of  sins  against  conventionality.  When  the 
castle  people  '  tirl  at  the  pin,'  I  will  appear  as  the 
maid,  if  you  like,  following  your  example  at  Mrs. 
Bobby's  cottage  in  Belvern,  Pen." 

"  And  it  is  n't  as  if  there  were  many  houses  to 


152  Penelopes  Progress 

choose  from,  Salemina,  nor  as  if  Bide-a-Wee  Cot- 
tage were  cheap,"  I  continued.  "Think  of  the 
rent  we  pay  and  keep  your  head  high.  Remem- 
ber that  the  draper's  wife  says  there  is  nothing 
half  so  comfortable  in  Inchcaldy,  although  that 
is  twice  as  large  a  town." 

"  Inchcaldy  !  "  ejaculated  Francesca,  sitting 
down  heavily  upon  the  sofa  and  staring  at  me. 

"  Inchcaldy,  my  dear,  —  spelled  caldy,  but  pro- 
nounced cawdy  ;  the  town  where  you  are  to  take 
your  nonsensical  little  fripperies  to  be  laun- 
dered." 

"  Where  is  Inchcaldy  ?     How  far  away  ?  " 

"About  five  miles,  I  believe,  but  a  lovely 
road." 

"  Well,"  she  exclaimed  bitterly,  "  of  course 
Scotland  is  a  small,  insignificant  country ;  but, 
tiny  as  it  is,  it  presents  some  liberty  of  choice, 
and  why  you  need  have  pitched  upon  Pettybaw, 
and  brought  me  here,  when  it  is  only  five  miles 
from  Inchcaldy,  and  a  lovely  road  besides,  is 
more  than  I  can  understand  ! " 

"  In  what  way  has  Inchcaldy  been  so  unhappy 
as  to  offend  you  ? "  I  asked. 

"  It  has  not  offended  me,  save  that  it  chances 
to  be  Ronald  Macdonald's  parish,  —  that  is  all." 

"  Ronald  Macdonald's  parish !  "  we  repeated 
automatically. 

"  Certainly,  —  you  must  have  heard  him  men- 
tion Inchcaldy ;  and  how  queer  he  will  think  it 


Penelopes  Progress  153 

that  I  have  come  to  Pettybaw,  under  all  the  cir- 
cumstances !  " 

"  We  do  not  know  *  all  the  circumstances,' " 
quoted  Salemina  somewhat  haughtily ;  "  and  you 
must  remember,  my  dear,  that  our  opportunities 
for  speech  with  Mr.  Macdonald  have  been  very 
rare  when  you  were  present.  For  my  part,  I  was 
always  in  such  a  tremor  of  anxiety  during  his 
visits  lest  one  or  both  of  you  should  descend  to 
blows  that  I  remember  no  details  of  his  conver- 
sation. Besides,  we  did  not  choose  Pettybaw ; 
we  discovered  it  by  chance  as  we  were  driving 
from  Strathdee  to  St.  Rules.  How  were  we  to 
know  that  it  was  near  this  fatal  Inchcaldy  ?  If 
you  think  it  best,  we  will  hold  no  communication 
with  the  place,  and  Mr.  Macdonald  need  never 
know  you  are  here." 

I  thought  Francesca  looked  rather  startled  at 
this  proposition.  At  all  events  she  said  hastily, 
"  Oh  well,  let  it  go ;  we  could  not  avoid  each 
other  long,  anyway,  though  it  is  very  awkward,  of 
course ;  you  see,  we  did  not  part  friends." 

"  I  thought  I  had  never  seen  you  on  more  cor- 
dial terms,"  remarked  Salemina. 

"  But  you  were  n't  there,"  answered  Francesca 
unguardedly. 

"  Were  n't  where  ?  " 

"  Were  n't  there." 

"  Where  ? " 

"  At  the  station." 


154  Penelope  s  Progress 

"  What  station  ?  " 

"  The  station  in  Edinburgh  from  which  I 
started  for  the  Highlands." 

"  You  never  said  that  he  came  to  see  you  off." 

"  The  matter  was  too  unimportant  for  notice  ; 
and  the  more  I  think  of  his  being  here,  the  less 
I  mind  it.  after  all ;  and  so,  dull  care,  begone  ! 
When  I  first  meet  him  on  the  sands  or  in  the 
loaning,  I  shall  say,  '  Dear  me,  is  it  Mr.  Macdon- 
ald  !  What  brought  you  to  our  quiet  hamlet  ?  ■ 
(I  shall  put  the  responsibility  on  him,  you  know.) 
'That  is  the  worst  of  these  small  countries, — 
fowk  are  aye  i'  the  gait !  When  we  part  forever 
in  America,  we  are  able  to  stay  parted,  if  we 
wish.'  Then  he  will  say,  '  Quite  so,  quite  so ; 
but  I  suppose  even  you,  Miss  Monroe,  will  allow 
that  a  minister  may  not  move  his  church  to 
please  a  lady.'  'Certainly  not,'  I  shall  reply, 
'  eespecially  when  it  is  Estaiblished  ! '  Then  he 
will  laugh,  and  we  shall  be  better  friends  for  a 
few  moments ;  and  then  I  shall  tell  him  my 
latest  story  about  the  Scotchman  who  prayed, 
'  Lord,  I  do  not  ask  that  Thou  shouldst  give  me 
wealth  ;  only  show  me  where  it  is,  and  I  will 
attend  to  the  rest.'  " 

Salemina  moaned  at  the  delightful  prospect 
opening  before  us,  while  I  went  to  the  piano  and 
caroled  impersonally  :  — 

"  Oh,  wherefore  did  I  cross  the  Forth, 
And  leave  mv  love  behind  me  ? 


Penelope  s  Progress  155 

Why  did  I  venture  to  the  north 
With  one  that  did  not  mind  me  ? 

I  'm  sure  I  've  seen  a  better  limb 
And  twenty  better  faces  ; 

But  still  my  mind  it  runs  on  him 
When  I  am  at  the  races  !  " 

Francesca  left  the  room  at  this,  and  closed  the 
door  behind  her  with  such  energy  that  the  bust 
of  Sir  Walter  rocked  on  the  hall  shelf.  Running 
upstairs  she  locked  herself  in  her  bedroom,  and 
came  down  again  only  to  help  us  receive  Jane 
Grieve,  who  arrived  at  eight  o'clock. 

In  times  of  joy,  Salemina,  Francesca,  and  I 
occasionally  have  our  trifling  differences  of  opin- 
ion, but  in  hours  of  affliction  we  are  as  one  flesh. 
An  all-wise  Providence  sent  us  Jane  Grieve  for 
fear  that  we  should  be  too  happy  in  Pettybaw. 
Plans  made  in  heaven  for  the  discipline  of  sinful 
human  flesh  are  always  successful,  and  this  was 
no  exception. 

We  had  sent  a  "  machine  "  from  the  inn  to 
meet  her,  and  when  it  drew  up  at  the  door  we 
went  forward  to  greet  the  rosy  little  Jane  of  our 
fancy.  An  aged  person,  wearing  a  rusty  black 
bonnet  and  shawl,  and  carrying  what  appeared 
to  be  a  tin  cake-box  and  a  baby's  bath-tub,  de- 
scended rheumatically  from  the  vehicle  and  an- 
nounced herself  as  Miss  Grieve.  She  was  too 
old  to  call  by  her  Christian  name,  too  sensitive 
to  call  by  her  surname,  so  Miss  Grieve  she  re- 
mained, as  announced,  to  the  end  of  the  chapter, 


156  Penelope  s  Progress 

and  our  rosy  little  Jane  died  before  she  was 
actually  born.  The  man  took  her  curious  lug- 
gage into  the  kitchen,  and  Salemina  escorted  her 
thither,  while  Francesca  and  I  fell  into  each 
other's  arms  and  laughed  hysterically. 

"  Nobody  need  tell  me  that  she  is  Mrs.  M'Col- 
lop's  sister's  husband's  niece,"  she  whispered, 
"  though  she  may  possibly  be  somebody's  grand- 
aunt.  Does  n't  she  remind  you  of  Mrs.  Gum- 
midge  ? " 

Salemina  returned  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  and 
sank  dejectedly  on  the  sofa. 

"  Run  over  to  the  inn,  Francesca,"  she  said, 
"  and  order  bacon  and  eggs  at  eight-thirty  to- 
morrow morning.  Miss  Grieve  thinks  we  had 
better  not  breakfast  at  home  until  she  becomes 
accustomed  to  the  surroundings." 

"  Shall  we  allow  her  to  become  accustomed  to 
them  ?  "  I  questioned. 

"  She  came  up  from  Glasgow  to  Edinburgh  for 
the  day,  and  went  to  see  Mrs.  M'Collop  just  as 
our  telegram  arrived.  She  was  living  with  an 
1  extremely  nice  family  '  in  Glasgow,  and  only 
broke  her  engagement  in  order  to  try  Fifeshire 
air  for  the  summer ;  so  she  will  remain  with  us 
as  long  as  she  is  benefited  by  the  climate." 

"  Can't  we  pay  her  for  a  month  and  send  her 
away  ?  " 

"  How  can  we  ?  She  is  Mrs.  M'Collop's  sis- 
ter's husband's  niece,  and  we  intend  returning 


Penelope  s  Progress  157 

to  Mrs.  M'Collop.  She  has  a  nice  ladylike  ap- 
pearance, but  when  she  takes  her  bonnet  off  she 
looks  seventy  years  old." 

H  She  ought  always  to  keep  it  off,  then,"  re- 
turned Francesca,  "  for  she  looked  eighty  with 
it  on.  We  shall  have  to  soothe  her  last  mo- 
ments, of  course,  and  pay  her  funeral  expenses. 
Did  you  offer  her  a  cup  of  tea  and  show  her 
the  box-bed  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  she  said  she  was  muckle  obleeged  to 
me,  but  the  coals  were  so  poor  and  hard  she 
couldna  batter  them  up  to  start  a  fire  the  nicht, 
and  she  would  try  the  box-bed  to  see  if  she  could 
sleep  in  it.  I  am  glad  to  remember  that  it  was 
you  who  telegraphed  for  her,  Penelope." 

"Let  there  be  no  recriminations,"  I  re- 
sponded j  "  let  us  stand  shoulder  to  shoulder  in 
this  calamity,  —  is  n't  there  a  story  called  '  Ca- 
lamity Jane  ? '  We  might  live  at  the  inn,  and 
give  her  the  cottage  for  a  summer  residence,  but 
I  utterly  refuse  to  be  parted  from  our  cat  and  the 
1602  lintel." 

After  I  have  once  described  Miss  Grieve  I 
shall  not  suffer  her  to  begloom  these  pages  as 
she  did  our  young  lives.  She  is  so  exactly  like 
her  kind  in  America  that  she  cannot  be  looked 
upon  as  a  national  type.  Everywhere  we  go  we 
see  fresh,  fair-haired,  sonsie  lassies  ;  why  should 
we  have  been  visited  with  this  affliction,  we  who 
have  no  courage  in  a  foreign  land  to  rid  ourselves 
of  it? 


158  Penelope  s  Progress 


She  appears  at  the  door  of  the  kitchen  with 
some  complaint,  and  stands  there  talking  to  her- 
self in  a  depressing  murmur  until  shef  arrives  at 
the  next  grievance.  Whenever  we  hear  this, 
which  is  whenever  we  are  in  the  sitting-room,  we 
amuse  ourselves  by  chanting  lines  of  melancholy 
poetry  which  correspond  to  the  sentiments  she 
seems  to  be  uttering.  It  is  the  only  way  the  in- 
fliction can  be  endured,  for  the  sitting-room  is 
so  small  we  cannot  keep  the  door  closed  habit- 
ually. The  effect  of  this  plan  is  something  like 
the  following  :  — 

She.  "  The  range  has  sic  a  bad  draft  I  canna 
mak'  the  fire  draw  !  " 

We.       "  But  I  'm  ower  auld  for  the  tears  to  start, 
An'sae  the  sighs  maun  blaw  !  " 

She.  "  The  clock  i'  the  hall  doesna  strike.  I 
have  to  get  oot  o'  my  bed  to  see  the  time." 

We.  "  The  broken  hairt  it  kens 

Nae  second  spring  again  !  " 

She.  "There  are  not  eneuch  jugs  i'  the 
hoose." 

We.      "  I  'm  downright  dizzy  wi'  the  thought,  — 
In  troth  I  'm  like  to  greet  1 " 

She.    "  The  sink  drain  is  na  recht." 

We.  "  An'  it 's  oh !  to  win  awa',  awa', 

An'  it 's  oh  !  to  win  awa'  I  " 

She.    "  I  canna  thole  a  box-bed  !  " 

We.  "  Ay,  waukin'  O 

Waukin'  O  an'  weary. 
Sleep  I  can  get  nane, 
Ay  waukin'  O !  " 


Penelopes  Progress  159 

She.  "  It 's  fair  insultin'  to  rent  a  hoose  wi'  so 
few  convenience." 

We.  "  An'  I  'm  ower  auld  to  fish  ony  mair, 

An'  I  hinna  the  chance  to  droon." 

She.  "  The  work  is  fair  sickenin'  i'  this  hoose, 
an'  a'  for  ane  puir  body  to  do  by  her  lane." 

We.  "  How  can  ye  chant,  ye  little  birds, 

An'  I  sae  weary,  fu'  o'  care  ? " 

She.  "  Ah,  but  that  was  a  fine  family  I  lived 
wi'  in  Glasgy  ;  an'  it 's  a  wearifu'  day's  work  I  've 
had  the  day." 

We.  "  Oh,  why  was  I  spared  to  cry,  wae  's  me ! " 

She.  "  Why  dinna  they  leave  floo'rs  i'  the  gar- 
den, makin'  sic  a  mess  i'  the  hoose  wi'  'em  ?  It 's 
not  for  the  knowin'  what  they  will  be  after 
next ! " 

We.  "  Oh,  waly  waly  up  the  bank, 

And  waly  waly  doon  the  brae ! " 

Miss  Grieve's  plaints  never  grow  less,  though 
we  are  sometimes  at  a  loss  for  appropriate  quota- 
tions to  match  them.  The  poetic  interpolations 
are  introduced  merely  to  show  the  general  spirit 
of  her  conversation.  They  take  the  place  of  her 
sighs,  which  are  by  their  nature  unprintable. 
Many  times  each  day  she  is  wont  to  sink  into 
one  low  chair,  and,  extending  her  feet  in  another, 
close  her  eyes  and  murmur  undistinguishable 
plaints  which  come  to  us  in  a  kind  of  rhythmic 
way.  She  has  such  a  shaking  right  hand  we  have 
been  obliged  to  give  up  coffee  and  have  tea,  as 


160  Penelopes  Progress 

the  former  beverage  became  too  unsettled  on  its 
journey  from  the  kitchen  to  the  breakfast-table. 
She  says  she  kens  she  is  a  guid  cook,  though 
salf-praise  is  sma'  racommendation  (sma'  as  it  is 
she  will  get  no  other !)  ;  but  we  have  little  op- 
portunity to  test  her  skill,  as  she  prepares  only 
our  breakfasts  of  eggs  and  porridge.  Visions  of 
home-made  goodies  had  danced  before  our  eyes, 
but  as  the  hall  clock  doesna  strike  she  is  unable 
to  rise  at  any  exact  hour,  and  as  the  range  draft 
is  bad,  and  the  coals  too  hard  to  batter  up  wi'  a 
hatchet,  we  naturally  have  to  content  ourselves 
with  the  baker's  loaf. 

And  this  is  a  truthful  portrait  of  "  Calamity 
Jane,"  our  one  Pettybaw  grievance. 


XVI 

"  Gae  farer  up  the  burn  to  Habbie's  Howe, 
Where  a'  the  sweets  o'  spring  an'  simmer  grow : 
Between  twa  birks,  out  o'er  a  little  lin, 
The  water  fa's  an'  mak's  a  singan  din ; 
A  pool  breast-deep,  beneath  as  clear  as  glass, 
Kisses,  wi'  easy  whirls,  the  bord'ring  grass." 

The  Gentle  Shepherd. 

That  is  what  Peggy  says  to  Jenny  in  Allan 
Ramsay's  poem,  and  if  you  substitute  "  Crummy- 
lowe  "  for  "  Habbie's  Howe  "  in  the  first  line,  you 
will  have  a  lovely  picture  of  the  Farm-Steadin'. 

You  come  to  it  by  turning  the  corner  from  the 
inn,  first  passing  the  cottage  where  the  lady 
wishes  to  rent  two  rooms  for  fifteen  shillings  a 
week,  but  will  not  give  much  attendance,  as  she 
is  slightly  asthmatic,  and  the  house  is  always  as 
clean  as  it  is  this  minute,  and  the  view  from  the 
window  looking  out  on  Pettybaw  Bay  canna  be 
surpassed  at  ony  money.  Then  comes  the  little 
house  where  Will'am  Beattie's  sister  Mary  died 
in  May,  and  there  wasna  a  bonnier  woman  in 
Fife.  Next  is  the  cottage  with  the  pansy  garden, 
where  the  lady  in  the  widow's  cap  takes  five 
o'clock  tea  in  the  bay  window,  and  a  snug  little 
supper  at  eight.  She  has  for  the  first  scones  and 
marmalade,  and  her  tea  is  in  a  small  black  teapot 


1 62  Penelope  s  Progress 

under  a  red  cozy  with  a  white  muslin  cover  drawn 
over  it.  At  eight  she  has  more  tea,  and  gener- 
ally a  kippered  herring,  or  a  bit  of  cold  mutton 
left  from  the  noon  dinner.  We  note  the  changes 
in  her  bill  of  fare  as  we  pass  hastily  by  and  feel 
admitted  quite  into  the  family  secrets.  Beyond 
this  bay  window,  which  is  so  redolent  of  simple 
peace  and  comfort  that  we  long  to  go  in  and  sit 
down,  is  the  cottage  with  the  double  white  tulips, 
the  cottage  with  the  collie  on  the  front  steps,  the 
doctor's  house  with  the  yellow  laburnum  tree, 
and  then  the  house  where  the  Disagreeable  Wo- 
man lives.  She  has  a  lovely  baby,  which,  to  be- 
gin with,  is  somewhat  remarkable,  as  disagree- 
able women  rarely  have  babies  ;  or  else,  having 
had  them,  rapidly  lose  their  disagreeableness,  — 
so  rapidly  that  one  has  not  time  to  notice  it. 
The  Disagreeable  Woman's  house  is  at  the  end 
of  the  row,  and  across  the  road  is  a  wicket  gate 
leading  —  Where  did  it  lead  ?  —  that  was  the 
very  point.  Along  the  left,  as  you  lean  wistfully 
over  the  gate,  there  runs  a  stone  wall  topped  by 
a  green  hedge  ;  and  on  the  right,  first  furrows  of 
pale  fawn,  then  below,  furrows  of  deeper  brown, 
and  mulberry,  and  red  ploughed  earth  stretch- 
ing down  to  waving  fields  of  green,  and  thence  to 
the  sea,  gray,  misty,  opalescent,  melting  into  the 
pearly  white  clouds,  so  that  one  cannot  tell  where 
sea  ends  and  sky  begins. 

There  is  a  path  between  the  green  hedge  and 


Penelope  s  Progress  163 

the  ploughed  field,  and  it  leads  seductively  to 
the  farm-steadin' ;  or  we  felt  that  it  might  thus 
lead,  if  we  dared  unlatch  the  wicket  gate.  See- 
ing no  sign  "  Private  Way,"  "  Trespassers  Not 
Allowed,"  or  other  printed  defiance  to  the  stran- 
ger, we  were  considering  the  opening  of  the  gate, 
when  we  observed  two  female  figures  coming 
toward  us  along  the  path,  and  paused  until  they 
should  come  through.  It  was  the  Disagreeable 
Woman  (though  we  knew  it  not)  and  an  elderly 
friend.  We  accosted  the  friend,  feeling  instinc- 
tively that  she  was  framed  of  softer  stuff,  and 
asked  her  if  the  path  were  a  private  one.  It  was 
a  question  that  had  never  met  her  ear  before, 
and  she  was  too  dull  or  too  discreet  to  deal  with 
it  on  the  instant.  To  our  amazement,  she  did 
not  even  manage  to  falter,  "  I  couldna  say." 

"  Is  the  path  private  ?  "  I  repeated. 

"It  is  certainly  the  idea  to  keep  it  a  little 
private,"  said  the  Disagreeable  Woman,  coming 
into  the  conversation  without  being  addressed. 
"  Where  do  you  wish  to  go  ?  " 

"  Nowhere  in  particular.  The  walk  looks  so 
inviting  we  should  like  to  see  the  end." 

"  It  goes  only  to  the  Farm,  and  you  can  reach 
that  by  the  highroad  ;  it  is  only  a  half-mile  far- 
ther.    Do  you  wish  to  call  at  the  Farm  ?  " 

"  No,  oh  no ;  the  path  is  so  very  pretty 
that "  — 

"  Yes,  I  see  ;  well,  I  should  call  it  rather  pri- 


164  Penelope  s  Progress 

vate."  And  with  this  she  departed ;  leaving  us 
to  stand  on  the  outskirts  of  paradise,  while  she 
went  into  her  house  and  stared  at  us  from  the 
window  as  she  played  with  the  lovely  unde- 
served baby.  But  that  was  not  the  end  of  the 
matter. 

We  found  ourselves  there  next  day,  Francesca 
and  I,  —  Salemina  was  too  proud,  —  drawn  by 
an  insatiable  longing  to  view  the  beloved  and 
forbidden  scene.  We  did  not  dare  to  glance 
at  the  Disagreeable  Woman's  windows,  lest  our 
courage  should  ooze  away,  so  we  opened  the 
gate  and  stole  through  into  the  rather  private 
path. 

It  was  a  most  lovely  path  ;  even  if  it  had  not 
been  in  a  sense  prohibited,  it  would  still  have 
been  lovely,  simply  on  its  own  merits.  There 
were  little  gaps  in  the  hedge  and  the  wall, 
through  which  we  peered  into  a  daisy-starred 
pasture,  where  a  white  bossy  and  a  herd  of 
flaxen-haired  cows  fed  on  the  sweet  green  grass. 
The  mellow  ploughed  earth  on  the  right  hand 
stretched  down  to  the  shore-line,  and  a  plough- 
boy  walked  up  and  down  the  long,  straight  fur- 
rows whistling  "  My  Nannie  's  awa'."  Pettybaw 
is  so  far  removed  from  the  music-halls  that  their 
cheap  songs  and  strident  echoes  never  reach  its 
sylvan  shades,  and  the  herd -laddies  and  plough- 
boys  still  sweeten  their  labors  with  the  old 
classic  melodies. 


Penelope  s  Progress  165 

We  walked  on  and  on,  determined  to  come 
every  day ;  and  we  settled  that  if  we  were  ac- 
costed by  any  one,  or  if  our  innocent  business 
were  demanded,  Francesca  should  ask,  "  Does 
Mrs.  Macstronachlacher  live  here,  and  has  she 
any  new-laid  eggs  ?  " 

Soon  the  gates  of  the  Farm  appeared  in  sight. 
There  was  a  cluster  of  buildings,  with  doves 
huddling  and  cooing  on  the  red-tiled  roofs,  — 
dairy-houses,  workmen's  cottages,  comely  rows  of 
haystacks  (towering  yellow  things  with  peaked 
tops)  j  a  little  pond  with  ducks  and  geese  chat- 
tering together  as  they  paddled  about,  and  for 
additional  music  the  trickling  of  two  tiny  burns 
making  "  a  singan  din  "  as  they  wimpled  through 
the  bushes.  A  speckle-breasted  thrush  perched 
on  a  corner  of  the  gray  wall  and  poured  his  heart 
out.  Overhead  there  was  a  chorus  of  rooks  in 
the  tall  trees,  but  there  was  no  sound  of  human 
voice  save  that  of  the  plough-laddie  whistling 
"  My  Nannie 's  awa'." 

We  turned  our  backs  on  this  darling  solitude, 
and  retraced  our  steps  lingeringly.  As  we 
neared  the  wicket  gate  again  we  stood  upon  a 
bit  of  jutting  rock  and  peered  over  the  wall, 
sniffing  the  hawthorn  buds  with  ecstasy.  The 
white  bossy  drew  closer,  treading  softly  on  its 
daisy  carpet ;  the  wondering  cows  looked  up  at 
us  as  they  peacefully  chewed  their  cuds  ;  a  man 
in  corduroy  breeches  came  from  a  corner  of  the 


1 66  Penelope  s  Progress 

pasture,  and  with  a  sharp,  narrow  hoe  rooted  out 
a  thistle  or  two  that  had  found  their  way  into  this 
sweet  feeding-ground.  Suddenly  we  heard  the 
swish  of  a  dress  behind  us,  and  turned,  con- 
science-stricken, though  we  had  in  nothing 
sinned. 

"  Does  Mrs.  Macstronachlacher  live  here  ?  " 
stammered  Francesca  like  a  parrot. 

It  was  an  idiotic  time  and  place  for  the  ques- 
tion. We  had  certainly  arranged  that  she  should 
ask  it,  but  something  must  be  left  to  the  judg- 
ment in  such  cases.  Francesca  was  hanging 
over  a  stone  wall  regarding  a  herd  of  cows  in 
a  pasture,  and  there  was  no  possible  shelter  for 
a  Mrs.  Macstronachlacher  within  a  quarter  of  a 
mile.  What  made  the  remark  more  unfortunate 
was  the  fact  that,  though  she  had  on  a  different 
dress  and  bonnet,  the  person  interrogated  was 
the  Disagreeable  Woman  j  but  Francesca  is  par- 
ticularly slow  in  discerning  resemblances.  She 
would  have  gone  on  mechanically  asking  for 
new-laid  eggs,  had  I  not  caught  her  eye  and  held 
it  sternly.  The  foe  looked  at  us  suspiciously  for 
a  moment  (Francesca's  hats  are  not  easily  for- 
gotten), and  then  vanished  up  the  path,  to  tell 
the  people  at  Crummylowe,  I  suppose,  that  their 
grounds  were  infested  by  marauding  strangers 
whose  curiosity  was  manifestly  the  outgrowth  of 
a  republican  government. 

As   she    disappeared    in    one    direction,   we 


Penelope  s  Progress  167 

walked  slowly  in  the  other ;  and  just  as  we 
reached  the  corner  of  the  pasture  where  two 
stone  walls  meet,  and  where  a  group  of  oaks 
gives  grateful  shade,  we  heard  children's  voices. 
"  No,  no  !  "  cried  somebody  :  "  it  must  be  still 
higher  at  this  end,  for  the  tower,  —  this  is  where 
the  king  will  sit.  Help  me  with  this  heavy  one, 
Rafe.  Dandie,  mind  your  foot.  Why  don't  you 
be  making  the  flag  for  the  ship  ?  —  and  do  keep 
the  Wrig  away  from  us  till  we  finish  building  1  " 


XVII 

"  O  lang,  lang  may  the  ladyes  sit 
Wi'  their  face  into  their  hand, 
Before  they  see  Sir  Patrick  Spens 
Come  sailing  to  the  strand." 

Sir  Patrick  Spens. 

We  forced  our  toes  into  the  crevices  of  the  wall 
and  peeped  stealthily  over  the  top.  Two  boys 
of  eight  or  ten  years,  with  two  younger  children, 
were  busily  engaged  in  building  a  castle.  A 
great  pile  of  stones  had  been  hauled  to  the  spot, 
evidently  for  the  purpose  of  mending  the  wall, 
and  these  were  serving  as  rich  material  for  sport. 
The  oldest  of  the  company,  a  bright-eyed,  rosy- 
cheeked  boy  in  an  Eton  jacket  and  broad  white 
collar,  was  obviously  commander-in-chief ;  and 
the  next  in  size,  whom  he  called  Rafe,  was  a  lad- 
die of  eight,  in  kilts.  These  two  looked  as  if 
they  might  be  scions  of  the  aristocracy,  while 
Dandie  and  the  Wrig  were  fat  little  yokels  of 
another  sort.  The  miniature  castle  must  have 
been  the  work  of  several  mornings,  and  was  wor- 
thy of  the  respectful  but  silent  admiration  with 
which  we  gazed  upon  it ;  but  as  the  last  stone 
was  placed  in  the  tower,  the  master  builder 
looked  up  and  spied  our  interested  eyes  peering 


Penelope's  Progress  169 

at  him  over  the  wall.  We  were  properly  abashed 
and  ducked  our  heads  discreetly  at  once,  but 
were  reassured  by  hearing  him  run  rapidly  to- 
ward us,  calling,  "  Stop,  if  you  please  !  Have 
you  anything  on  just  now,  —  are  you  busy  ?  " 

We  answered  that  we  were  quite  at  leisure. 

"  Then  would  you  mind  coming  in  to  help  us  to 
play  '  Sir  Patrick  Spens  '  ?  There  are  n't  enough 
of  us  to  do  it  nicely." 

This  confidence  was  touching,  and  luckily  it 
was  not  in  the  least  misplaced.  Playing  "  Sir 
Patrick  Spens  "  was  exactly  in  our  line,  little  as  he 
suspected  it. 

"  Come  and  help  ?  "  I  said.  "  Simply  de- 
lighted !  Do  come,  Fanny  dear.  How  can  we 
get  over  the  wall  ?  " 

"  I  '11  show  you  the  good  broken  place  !  "  cried 
Sir  Apple-Cheek  ;  and  following  his  directions 
we  scrambled  through,  while  Rafe  took  off  his 
Highland  bonnet  ceremoniously  and  handed  us 
down  to  earth. 

"  Hurrah  !  now  it  will  be  something  like  fun  ! 
Do  you  know  '  Sir  Patrick  Spens '  ?  " 

"Every  word  of  it.  Don't  you  want  us  to 
pass  an  examination  before  you  allow  us  in  the 
game  ? " 

"  No,"  he  answered  gravely ;  "  it 's  a  great 
help,  of  course,  to  know  it,  but  it  is  n't  necessary. 
I  keep  the  words  in  my  pocket  to  prompt  Dan- 
die,  and  the  Wrig  can  only  say  two  lines,  she 's 


170  Penelope  s  Progress 

so  little."  (Here  he  produced  some  tattered 
leaves  torn  from  a  book  of  ballads.)  "  We  've 
done  it  many  a  time,  but  this  is  a  new  Dunferm- 
line Castle,  and  we  are  trying  the  play  in  a  dif- 
ferent way.  Rafe  is  the  king,  and  Dandie  is  the 
'  eldern  knight,'  —  you  remember  him  ?  " 

"  Certainly ;  he  sat  at  the  king's  right  knee." 

"  Yes,  yes,  that  's  the  one  !  Then  Rafe  is  Sir 
Patrick  part  of  the  time,  and  I  the  other  part, 
because  everybody  likes  to  be  him ;  but  there  's 
nobody  left  for  the  '  lords  o'  Noroway '  or  the  sail- 
ors, and  the  Wrig  is  the  only  maiden  to  sit  on 
the  shore,  and  she  always  forgets  to  comb  her 
hair  and  weep  at  the  right  time." 

The  forgetful  and  placid  Wrig  (I  afterwards 
learned  that  this  is  a  Scots  word  for  the  youngest 
bird  in  the  nest)  was  seated  on  the  grass,  with 
her  fat  hands  full  of  pink  thyme  and  white  wild 
woodruff.  The  sun  shone  on  her  curly  flaxen 
head.  She  wore  a  dark  blue  cotton  frock  with 
white  dots,  and  a  short-sleeved  pinafore ;  and 
though  she  was  utterly  useless  from  a  dramatic 
point  of  view,  she  was  the  sweetest  little  Scotch 
dumpling  I  ever  looked  upon.  She  had  been 
tried  and  found  wanting  in  most  of  the  principal 
parts  of  the  ballad,  but  when  left  out  of  the  per- 
formance altogether  she  was  wont  to  scream  so 
lustily  that  all  Crummylowe  rushed  to  her  assist- 
ance. 

"  Now  let  us  practice  a  bit  to  see  if  we  know 


Penelopes  Progress  171 

what  we  are  going  to  do,"  said  Sir  Apple-Cheek. 
"Rafe,  you  can  be  Sir  Patrick  this  time.  The 
reason  why  we  all  like  to  be  Sir  Patrick,"  he 
explained,  turning  to  me,  "is  that  the  lords  o' 
Noroway  say  to  him,  — 

'  Ye  Scottishmen  spend  a'  our  King's  gowd, 
And  a'  our  Queenis  fee  ; ' 

and  then  he  answers,  — 

1  Ye  lee  !  ye  lee !  ye  leers  loud, 
Fu'  loudly  do  ye  lee  ! ' 

and  a  lot  of  splendid  things  like  that.  Well,  I  '11 
be  the  king,"  and  accordingly  he  began  :  — 

"  The  King  sits  in  Dunfermline  tower, 

Drinking  the  bluid-red  wine. 
•  O  whaur  will  I  get  a  skeely  skipper 

To  sail  this  new  ship  o'  mine  ? '  " 

A  dead  silence  ensued,  whereupon  the  king 
said  testily,  "  Now,  Dandie,  you  never  remember 
you  're  the  eldern  knight ;  go  on  !  " 

Thus  reminded,  Dandie  recited  :  — 

"  O  up  and  spake  an  eldern  knight 

Sat  at  the  King's  right  knee, 
'  Sir  Patrick  Spens  is  the  best  sailor 

That  ever  sailed  the  sea.'  " 

"  Now  I  '11  write  my  letter,"  said  the  king,  who 
Was  endeavoring  to  make  himself  comfortable  in 
his  somewhat  contracted  tower. 

"  The  King  has  written  a  braid  letter 

And  sealed  it  with  his  hand  ; 

And  sent  it  to  Sir  Patrick  Spens, 

Was  walking  on  the  strand. 


172  Penelope  s  Progress 

Read  the  letter  out  loud,  Rafe,  and  then  you  '11 
remember  what  to  do." 

"  '  To  Noroway  !  to  Noroway  ! 
To  Noroway  on  the  faem  ! 
The  King's  daughter  of  Noroway, 
'T  is  thou  maun  bring  her  name,'  " 

read  Rafe. 

"  Now  do  the  next  part !  " 

"  I  can't ;  I  'm  going  to  chuck  up  that  next  part. 
I  wish  you  'd  do  Sir  Pat  until  it  comes  to  '  Ye 
lee  !  ye  lee  ! ' " 

"  No,  that  won't  do,  Rafe.  We  have  to  mix  up 
everybody  else,  but  it 's  too  bad  to  spoil  Sir  Pat- 
rick." 

"  Well,  I  '11  give  him  to  you,  then,  and  be  the 
king.  I  don't  mind  so  much  now  that  we  've  got 
such  a  good  tower ;  and  why  can't  I  stop  up 
there  even  after  the  ship  sets  sail,  and  look  out 
over  the  sea  with  a  telescope  ?  That 's  the  way 
Elizabeth  did  the  time  she  was  king." 

"You  can  stay  till  you  have  to  come  down 
and  be  a  dead  Scots  lord.  I  'm  not  going  to  lie 
there  as  I  did  last  time,  with  nobody  but  the 
Wrig  for  a  Scots  lord,  and  her  forgetting  to  be 
dead !  " 

Sir  Apple-Cheek  then  essayed  the  hard  part 
"  chucked  up  "  by  Rafe.  It  was  rather  difficult, 
I  confess,  as  the  first  four  lines  were  in  panto- 
mime and  required  great  versatility  :  — 

"  The  first  word  that  Sir  Patrick  read, 
Fu'  loud,  loud  laughed  he; 


Penelope  s  Progress  173 

The  neist  word  that  Sir  Patrick  read, 
The  tear  blinded  his  e'e." 

These   conflicting    emotions   successfully   simu- 
lated, Sir  Patrick  resumed  :  — 

"  '  O  wha  is  he  has  dune  this  deed, 
And  tauld  the  King  o'  me,  — 
To  send  us  out,  at  this  time  o'  the  year, 
To  sail  upon  the  sea  ? '  " 

Then  the  king  stood  up  in  the  unstable  tower 
and  shouted  his  own  orders  :  — 

" '  Be  it  wind,  be  it  weet,  be  it  hail,  be  it  sleet, 
Our  ship  maun  sail  the  faem  ; 
The  King's  daughter  o'  Noroway, 
'T  is  we  maun  fetch  her  hame.'  " 

"  Can't  we  rig  the  ship  a  little  better  ? "  de- 
manded our  stage  manager  at  this  juncture.  "  It 
isn't  half  as  good  as  the  tower." 

Ten  minutes'  hard  work,  in  which  we  assisted, 
produced  something  a  trifle  more  nautical  and 
seaworthy  than  the  first  ship.  The  ground  with 
a  few  boards  spread  upon  it  was  the  deck.  Tar- 
paulin sheets  were  arranged  on  sticks  to  repre- 
sent sails,  and  we  located  the  vessel  so  cleverly 
that  two  slender  trees  shot  out  of  the  middle  of 
it  and  served  as  the  tall  topmasts. 

"  Now  let  us  make  believe  that  we  've  hoisted 
our  sails  on  '  Mononday  morn  '  and  been  in  Noro- 
way 'weeks  but  only  twae/"  said  our  leading 
man  ;  "  and  your  time  has  come  now,"  turning 
to  us. 


174  Penelope  s  Progress 

We  felt  indeed  that  it  had  j  but  plucking  up 
sufficient  courage  for  the  lords  o'  Noroway,  we 
cried  accusingly,  — 

"  •  Ye  Scottishmen  spend  a'  our  King's  gowd, 
And  a'  our  Queenis  fee ! '  " 

Oh,  but  Sir  Apple-Cheek  was  glorious  as  he 

roared  virtuously :  — 

" '  Ye  lee !  ye  lee !  ye  leers  loud, 
Fu'  loudly  do  ye  lee  1 

1  For  I  brocht  as  much  white  monie 
As  gane  my  men  and  me, 
An'  I  brocht  a  half-fou  o'  gude  red  gowd 
Out  ower  the  sea  wi'  me. 

'  But  betide  me  weil,  betide  me  wae, 

This  day  I  'se  leave  the  shore ; 

And  never  spend  my  King's  monie 

'Mong  Noroway  dogs  no  more. 

'  Make  ready,  make  ready,  my  merry  men  a', 
Our  gude  ship  sails  the  morn.' 

Now  you  be  the  sailors,  please  !  " 

Glad  to  be  anything  but  Noroway  dogs,  we 
recited  obediently  :  — 

" '  Now,  ever  alake,  my  master  dear, 
I  fear  a  deadly  storm  I 


And  if  ye  gang  to  sea,  master, 
I  fear  we  '11  come  to  harm.' ' 


We  added  much  to  the  effect  of  this  stanza  by 
flinging  ourselves  on  the  turf  and  embracing  Sir 
Patrick's  knees,  with  which  touch  of  melodrama 
he  was  enchanted. 


P  e  tie  lope  s  Progress  175 

Then  came  a  storm  so  terrible  that  I  can 
hardly  trust  myself  to  describe  its  fury.  The 
entire  corps  dramatique  personated  the  elements, 
and  tore  the  gallant  ship  in  twain,  while  Sir  Pat- 
rick shouted  in  the  teeth  of  the  gale,  — 

" '  O  whaur  will  I  get  a  gude  sailor 
To  tak'  my  helm  in  hand. 
Till  I  get  up  to  the  tall  topmast 
To  see  if  I  can  spy  land  ? '  " 

I  knew  the  words  a  trifle  better  than  Fran- 
cesca,  and  thus  succeeded  in  forestalling  her  as 
the  fortunate  hero  :  — 

"  '  O  here  am  I,  a  sailor  gude, 
To  tak'  the  helm  in  hand, 
Till  you  go  up  to  the  tall  topmast ; 
But  I  fear  ye  '11  ne'er  spy  land.' " 

And  the  heroic  sailor  was  right,  for 

"  He  hadna  gone  a  step,  a  step, 
A  step  but  only  ane, 
When  a  bout  flew  out  o'  our  goodly  ship, 
And  the  saut  sea  it  came  in." 

Then  we  fetched  a  web  o'  the  silken  claith,  and 
anither  o'  the  twine,  as  our  captain  bade  us  ;  we 
wapped  them  into  our  ship's  side  and  letna  the 
sea  come  in  j  but  in  vain,  in  vain.  Laith  were 
the  gude  Scots  lords  to  weet  their  cork-heeled 
shune,  but  they  did,  and  wat  their  hats  abune ; 
for  the  ship  sank  in  spite  of  their  despairing  ef- 
forts, 

"  And  mony  was  the  gude  lord's  son 
That  never  mair  cam'  hame." 


iy6  Penelope  s  Progress 

Francesca  and  I  were  now  obliged  to  creep 
from  under  the  tarpaulins  and  personate  the 
disheveled  ladies  on  the  strand. 

"  Will  your  hair  come  down  ?  "  asked  the  man- 
ager gravely. 

"  It  will  and  shall/'  we  rejoined  j  and  it  did. 

"  The  ladies  wrang  their  fingers  white, 
The  maidens  tore  their  hair." 

11  Do  tear  your  hair,  Jessie !  It 's  the  only 
thing  you  have  to  do,  and  you  never  do  it  on 
time ! " 

The  Wrig  made  ready  to  howl  with  offended 
pride,  but  we  soothed  her,  and  she  tore  her  yel- 
low curls  with  her  chubby  hands. 

"  And  lang,  lang  may  the  maidens  sit 
Wi'  their  gowd  kaims  i'  their  hair, 
A  waitin'  for  their  ain  dear  luves, 
For  them  they  '11  see  nae  mair." 

I  did  a  bit  of  sobbing  here  that  would  have 
been  a  credit  to  Sarah  Siddons. 

"  Splendid  !  Grand  !  "  cried  Sir  Patrick,  as  he 
stretched  himself  fifty  fathoms  below  the  ima- 
ginary surface,  and  gave  explicit  ante-mortem 
directions  to  the  other  Scots  lords  to  spread  them- 
selves out  in  like  manner. 

"  Half  ower,  half  ower  to  Aberdour, 
'T  is  fifty  fathoms  deep, 
And  there  lies  gude  Sir  Patrick  Spens, 
Wi'  the  Scots  lords  at  his  feet." 

*  Oh,  it  is  grand ! "   he   repeated  jubilantly. 


Penelopes  Progress  177 

"  If  I  could  only  be  the  king  and  see  it  all  from 
Dunfermline  tower!  Could  you  be  Sir  Patrick 
once,  do  you  think,  now  that  I  have  shown  you 
how  ?  "  he  asked  Francesca. 

"  Indeed  I  could  !  "  she  replied,  glowing  with 
excitement  (and  small  wonder)  at  being  chosen 
for  the  principal  role. 

"  The  only  trouble  is  that  you  do  look  awfully 
like  a  girl  in  that  white  frock." 

Francesca  appeared  rather  ashamed  at  her  nat- 
ural disqualifications  for  the  part  of  Sir  Patrick. 
"  If  I  had  only  worn  my  long  black  cloak  !  "  she 
sighed. 

"  Oh,  I  have  an  idea  !  "  cried  the  boy.  "  Hand 
her  the  minister's  gown  from  the  hedge,  Rafe. 
You  see,  Mistress  Ogilvie  of  Crummylowe  lent 
us  this  old  gown  for  a  sail ;  she  's  doing  some- 
thing to  a  new  one,  and  this  was  her  pattern." 

Francesca  slipped  it  on  over  her  white  serge, 
and  the  Pettybaw  parson  should  have  seen  her 
with  the  long  veil  of  her  dark  locks  floating  over 
his  ministerial  garment. 

"  It  seems  a  pity  to  put  up  your  hair,"  said  the 
stage  manager  critically,  "  because  you  look  so 
jolly  and  wild  with  it  down,  but  I  suppose  you 
must ;  and  will  you  have  Rafe's  bonnet  ?  " 

Yes,  she  would  have  Rafe's  bonnet ;  and  when 
she  perched  it  on  the  side  of  her  head  and  paced 
the  deck  restlessly,  while  the  black  gown  floated 
behind  in  the  breeze,  we  all  cheered  with  enthu- 


178  Penelope's  Progress 

siasm,  and,  having  rebuilt  the  ship,  began  the 
play  again  from  the  moment  of  the  gale.  The 
wreck  was  more  horribly  realistic  than  ever,  this 
time,  because  of  our  rehearsal ;  and  when  I 
crawled  from  under  the  masts  and  sails  to  seat 
myself  on  the  beach  with  the  Wrig,  I  had  scarcely 
strength  enough  to  remove  the  cooky  from  her 
hand  and  set  her  a-combing  her  curly  locks. 

When  our  new  Sir  Patrick  stretched  herself  on 
the  ocean  bed,  she  fell  with  a  despairing  wail; 
her  gown  spread  like  a  pall  over  the  earth,  the 
Highland  bonnet  came  off,  and  her  hair  floated 
over  a  haphazard  pillow  of  Jessie's  wild  flowers. 

"Oh,  it  is  fine,  that  part;  but  from  here  is 
where  it  always  goes  wrong !  "  cried  the  king 
from  the  castle  tower.  "  It 's  too  bad  to  take  the 
maidens  away  from  the  strand  where  they  look 
so  bonnie,  and  Rafe  is  splendid  as  the  gude  sailor, 
but  Dandie  looks  so  silly  as  one  little  dead  Scots 
lord ;  if  we  only  had  one  more  person,  young  or 
old,  if  he  was  ever  so  stupid  !  " 

"  Would  I  do  ?" 

This  unexpected  offer  came  from  behind  one 
of  the  trees  that  served  as  topmasts,  and  at  the 
same  moment  there  issued  from  that  delightfully 
secluded  retreat  Ronald  Macdonald,  in  knicker- 
bockers and  a  golf  cap. 

Suddenly  as  this  apparition  came,  there  was 
no  lack  of  welcome  on  the  children's  part.  They 
shouted  his  name  in  glee,  embraced  his  legs,  and 


Penelope  s  Progress  179 

pulled  him  about  like  affectionate  young  bears. 
Confusion  reigned  for  a  moment,  while  Sir  Pat- 
rick rose  from  her  sea  grave  all  in  a  mist  of  float- 
ing hair,  from  which  hung  impromptu  garlands 
of  pink  thyme  and  green  grasses. 

"Allow  me  to  do  the  honors,  please,  Jamie," 
said  Mr.  Macdonald,  when  he  could  escape  from 
the  children's  clutches.  "  Have  you  been  pro- 
perly presented  ?  I  suppose  not.  Ladies,  the 
young  Master  of  Rowardennan.  Jamie,  Miss 
Hamilton  and  Miss  Monroe  from  the  United 
States  of  America."  Sir  Apple-Cheek  bowed 
respectfully.  "Let  me  present  the  Honorable 
Ralph  Ardmore,  also  from  the  castle,  together 
with  Dandie  Dinmont  and  the  Wrig  from  Crum- 
mylowe.  Sir  Patrick,  it  is  indeed  a  pleasure  to 
see  you  again.  Must  you  take  off  my  gown  ?  I 
had  thought  it  was  past  use,  but  it  never  looked 
so  well  before." 

"  Your  gown  ? " 

The  counterfeit  presentment  of  Sir  Patrick 
vanished  as  the  long  drapery  flew  to  the  hedge 
whence  it  came,  and  there  remained  only  an 
offended  young  goddess,  who  swung  her  dark 
mane  tempestuously  to  one  side,  plaited  it  in  a 
thick  braid,  tossed  it  back  again  over  her  white 
serge  shoulder,  and  crowded  on  her  sailor  hat 
with  unnecessary  vehemence. 

"  Yes,  my  gown ;  whose  else  could  you  more 
appropriately  borrow,  pray  ?     Mistress  Ogilvie  of 


180  Penelope  s  Progress 

Crummylowe  presses,  sponges,  and  darns  my 
bachelor  wardrobe,  but  I  confess  I  never  sus' 
pected  that  she  rented  it  out  for  theatrical  pur- 
poses. I  have  been  calling  upon  you  in  Petty- 
baw ;  Lady  Ardmore  was  there  at  the  same  time. 
Finding  but  one  of  the  three  American  Graces 
at  home,  I  stayed  a  few  moments  only,  and  am 
now  returning  to  Inchcaldy  by  way  of  Crummy- 
lowe." Here  he  plucked  the  gown  off  the  hedge 
and  folded  it  carefully. 

"  Can't  we  keep  it  for  a  sail,  Mr.  Macdonald  ? " 
pleaded  Jamie.  "  Mistress  Ogilvie  said  it  was  n't 
any  more  good." 

"When  Mistress  Ogilvie  made  that  remark," 
replied  the  Reverend  Ronald,  "  she  had  no  idea 
that  it  would  ever  touch  the  shoulders  of  the 
martyred  Sir  Patrick  Spens.  Now  I  happen  to 
love"  — 

Francesca  hung  out  a  scarlet  flag  in  each 
cheek,  and  I  was  about  to  say,  "  Don't  mind 
me  !  "  when  he  continued :  — 

"  As  I  was  saying,  I  happen  to  love  '  Sir  Patrick 
Spens/  —  it  is  my  favorite  ballad  ;  so,  with  your 
permission,  I  will  take  the  gown,  and  you  can 
find  something  less  valuable  for  a  sail !  " 

I  could  never  understand  just  why  Francesca 
was  so  annoyed  at  being  discovered  in  our  inno- 
cent game.  Of  course  she  was  prone  on  Mother 
Earth  and  her  tresses  were  much  disheveled,  but 
she  looked  lovely,,  after  all,  in  comparison  with 


Pe?ielopes  Progress  181 

me,  the  humble  "  supe "  and  lightning-change 
artist ;  yet  I  kept  my  temper,  —  at  least  I  kept  it 
until  the  Reverend  Ronald  observed,  after  escort- 
ing us  through  the  gap  in  the  wall,  "  By  the  way, 
Miss  Hamilton,  there  was  a  gentleman  from  Paris 
at  your  cottage,  and  he  is  walking  down  the  road 
to  meet  you." 

Walking  down  the  road  to  meet  me,  forsooth ! 
Have  ministers  no  brains  ?  The  Reverend  Mr. 
Macdonald  had  wasted  five  good  minutes  with  his 
observations,  introductions,  explanations,  felicita- 
tions, and  adorations,  and  meantime,  regardez- 
moi,  messieurs  et  mesdames,  s'il  vous  plait !  I 
have  been  a  Noroway  dog,  a  ship-builder,  and  a 
gallant  sailorman ;  I  have  been  a  gurly  sea  and 
a  towering  gale;  I  have  crawled  from  beneath 
broken  anchors,  topsails,  and  mizzenmasts  to  a 
strand  where  I  have  been  a  suffering  lady  plying 
a  gowd  kaim.  My  skirt  of  blue  drill  has  been 
twisted  about  my  person  until  it  trails  in  front ; 
my  collar  is  wilted,  my  cravat  untied  ;  I  have  lost 
a  stud  and  a  sleeve-link ;  my  hair  is  in  a  tangled 
mass,  my  face  is  scarlet  and  dusty — and  a  gen- 
tleman from  Paris  is  walking  down  the  road  to 
meet  me ! 


XVIII 

"  There  were  three  ladies  in  a  hall  — 
With  a  heigh-ho !  and  a  lily  gay, 
There  came  a  lord  among  them  all  — 
As  the  primrose  spreads  so  sweetly." 

The  Cruel  Brother. 

Willie  Beresford  has  come  to  Pettybaw,  and 
that  Arcadian  village  has  received  the  last  touch 
that  makes  it  Paradise. 

We  are  exploring  the  neighborhood  together, 
and  whichever  path  we  take  we  think  it  lovelier 
than  the  one  before.  This  morning  we  drove  to 
Pettybaw  Sands,  Francesca  and  Salemina  follow- 
ing by  the  footpath  and  meeting  us  on  the  shore. 
It  is  all  so  enchantingly  fresh  and  green  on  one 
of  these  rare  bright  days  :  the  trig  lass  bleaching 
her  "  claes  "  on  the  grass  by  the  burn  near  the  little 
stone  bridge ;  the  wild  partridges  whirring  about 
in  pairs ;  the  farm-boy  seated  on  the  clean  straw 
in  the  bottom  of  his  cart,  and  cracking  his  whip 
in  mere  wanton  joy  at  the  sunshine  ;  the  pretty 
cottages,  and  the  gardens  with  rows  of  currant 
and  gooseberry  bushes  hanging  thick  with  fruit 
that  suggests  jam  and  tart  in  every  delicious 
globule.  It  is  a  love-colored  landscape,  we  know 
it  full  well ;  and  nothing  in  the  fair  world  about 


Penelopes  Progress  183 

us  is  half  as  beautiful  as  what'  we  see  in  each 
other's  eyes.  Ah,  the  memories  of  these  first 
golden  mornings  together  after  our  long  separa- 
tion. I  shall  sprinkle  them  with  lavender  and 
lay  them  away  in  that  dim  chamber  of  the  heart 
where  we  keep  precious  things.  We  all  know 
the  chamber.  It  is  fragrant  with  other  hidden 
treasures,  for  all  of  them  are  sweet,  though  some 
are  sad.  This  is  the  reason  why  we  put  a  finger 
on  the  lip  and  say  "  Hush,"  if  we  open  the  door 
and  allow  any  one  to  peep  in. 

We  tied  the  pony  by  the  wayside  and  alighted: 
Willie  to  gather  some  sprays  of  the  pink  veronica 
and  blue  speedwell,  I  to  sit  on  an  old  bench  and 
watch  him  in  happy  idleness.  The  "white-blos- 
somed slaes  "  sweetened  the  air,  and  the  distant 
hills  were  gay  with  golden  whin  and  broom,  or 
flushed  with  the  purply-red  of  the  bell  heather. 

We  heard  the  note  of  the  cushats  from  a  neigh- 
boring bush.  They  used  to  build  their  nests  on 
the  ground,  so  the  story  goes,  but  the  cows 
trampled  them.  Now  they  are  wiser  and  build 
higher,  and  their  cry  is  supposed  to  be  a  derisive 
one,  directed  to  their  ancient  enemies,  "  Come 
noo,  Coo,  Coo  !     Come  noo  !  " 

A  hedgehog  crept  stealthily  along  the  ground, 
and  at  a  sudden  sound  curled  himself  up  like  a 
wee  brown  bear.  There  were  women  working  in 
the  fields  near  by,  —  a  strange  sight  to  our  eyes 
at  first,  but  nothing  unusual  here,  where  many  of 


184  Penelope  s  Progress 

them  are  employed  on  the  farms  all  the  year 
round,  sowing,  weeding,  planting,  even  ploughing 
in  the  spring,  and  in  winter  working  at  threshing 
or  in  the  granary. 

An  old  man,  leaning  on  his  staff,  came  totter- 
ing feebly  along,  and  sank  down  on  the  bench 
beside  me.  He  was  dirty,  ragged,  unkempt,  and 
feeble,  but  quite  sober,  and  pathetically  anxious 
for  human  sympathy. 

"  I  'm  achty-sax  year  auld,"  he  maundered, 
apropos  of  nothing,  "  achty-sax  year  auld.  I  've 
seen  five  lairds  o'  Pettybaw,  sax  placed  meenis- 
ters,  an'  seeven  doctors.  I  was  a  mason  an'  a 
stoot  mon  i'  thae  days,  but  it  's  a  meeserable 
life  now.  Wife  deid,  bairns  deid  !  I  sit  by  my 
lane,  an'  smoke  my  pipe,  wi'  naebody  to  gi'e  me 
a  sup  o'  water.  Achty-sax  is  ower  auld  for  a 
mon,  —  ower  auld." 

These  are  the  sharp  contrasts  of  life  one  can- 
not bear  to  face  when  one  is  young  and  happy. 
Willie  gave  him  a  half-crown  and  some  tobacco 
for  his  pipe,  and  when  the  pony  trotted  off 
briskly,  and  we  left  the  shrunken  figure  alone  on 
his  bench  as  he  was  lonely  in  his  life,  we  kissed 
each  other  and  pledged  ourselves  to  look  after 
him  as  long  as  we  remain  in  Pettybaw;  for  what 
is  love  worth  if  it  does  not  kindle  the  flames  of 
spirit,  open  the  gates  of  feeling,  and  widen  the 
heart  to  shelter  all  the  little  loves  and  great 
loves  that  crave  admittance  ? 


Penelope  s  Progress  185 

As  we  n eared  the  tiny  fishing-village  on  the 
sands  we  met  a  fishwife  brave  in  her  short  skirt 
and  eight  petticoats,  the  basket  with  its  two  hun- 
dred pound  weight  on  her  head,  and  the  auld 
wife  herself  knitting  placidly  as  she  walked 
along.  They  look  superbly  strong,  these  women  ; 
but,  to  be  sure,  the  "  weak  anes  dee,"  as  one  of 
them  told  me. 

There  was  an  air  of  bustle  about  the  little 
quay,  — 

"  That  joyfu'  din  when  the  boats  come  in, 
When  the  boats  come  in  sae  early  ; 
When  the  lift  is  blue  an'  the  herring-nets  fu', 
And  the  sun  glints  in  a'  things  rarely." 

The  silvery  shoals  of  fish  no  longer  come  so 
near  the  shore  as  they  used  in  the  olden  time, 
for  then  the  kirk  bell  of  St.  Monan's  had  its 
tongue  tied  when  the  "  draive  "  was  off  the  coast, 
lest  its  knell  should  frighten  away  the  shining 
myriads  of  the  deep. 

We  climbed  the  shoulder  of  a  great  green  cliff 
until  we  could  sit  on  the  rugged  rocks  at  the  top 
and  overlook  the  sea.  The  bluff  is  well  named 
Nirly  Scaur,  and  a  wild,  desolate  spot  it  is,  with 
gray  lichen-clad  boulders  and  stunted  heather 
on  its  summit.  In  a  storm  here,  the  wind  buf- 
fets and  slashes  and  scourges  one  like  invisible 
whips,  and  below,  the  sea  churns  itself  into  foam- 
ing waves,  driving  its  M  infinite  squadrons  of  wild 
white  horses  "  eternally  toward  the  shore.      It 


1 86  Penelope  s  Progress 

was  calm  and  blue  to-day,  and  no  sound  dis- 
turbed the  quiet  save  the  incessant  shriek  and 
scream  of  the  rock  birds,  the  kittiwakes,  black- 
headed  gulls,  and  guillemots  that  live  on  the  sides 
of  these  high,  sheer  craigs.  Here  the  mother 
guillemot  lays  her  single  eggy  and  here,  on  these 
narrow  shelves  of  precipitous  rock,  she  holds  it 
in  place  with  her  foot  until  the  warmth  of  her  leg 
and  overhanging  body  hatches  it  into  life,  when 
she  takes  it  on  her  back  and  flies  down  to  the 
sea.  Motherhood  under  difficulties,  it  would 
seem,  and  the  education  of  the  baby  guillemot 
is  carried  forward  on  Spartan  principles ;  for  the 
moment  he  is  out  of  the  shell  he  is  swept  down- 
ward hundreds  of  feet  and  plunged  into  a  cold 
ocean,  where  he  can  sink  or  swim  as  instinct 
serves  him.  In  a  life  so  fraught  with  anxieties, 
exposures,  and  dangers,  it  is  not  strange  that  the 
guillemots  keep  up  a  ceaseless  clang  of  excited 
conversation,  a  very  riot  and  wrangle  of  alterca- 
tion and  argument  which  the  circumstances  seem 
to  warrant.  The  prospective  father  is  obliged  to 
take  turns  with  the  prospective  mother  and  hold 
the  one  precious  egg  on  the  rock  while  she  goes 
for  a  fly,  a  swim,  a  bite,  and  a  sup.  As  there  are 
five  hundred  other  parents  on  the  same  rock,  and 
the  eggs  look  to  be  only  a  couple  of  inches  apart, 
the  scene  must  be  distracting,  and  I  have  no  doubt 
we  should  find,  if  statistics  were  gathered,  that 
thousands  of  guillemots  die  of  nervous  prostration. 


Penelope  s  Progress  187 

Willie  and  I  interpreted  the  clamor  somewhat 
as  follows  :  — 
[Between  parent  birds •.] 

"  I  am  going  to  take  my  foot  off.     Are  you 
ready  to  put  yours  on  ?    Don't  be  clumsy  !    Wait 
a  minute,  I  'm  not  ready.     I'm  not  ready,  I  tell 
you!    NOW!!" 
[Between  rival  mothers?^ 

"  Your  egg  is  so  close  to  mine  that  I  can't 
breathe  "  — 

"  Move  your  egg,  then,  I  can't  move  mine  ! " 

"  You  're  sitting  so  close,  I  can't  stretch  my 
wings." 

"  Neither  can  I.  You  Ve  got  as  much  room 
as  I  have." 

"  I  shall  tumble  if  you  crowd  me." 

14  Go  ahead  and  tumble,  then  !  There  is  plenty 
of  room  in  the  sea." 

[From  one  father  to  another,  ceremoniously^ 

"Pardon  me,  but  I  am  afraid  I  shoved  your 
wife  off  the  rock  last  night." 

"  Don't  mention  it.  I  remember  I  shoved  off 
your  wife's  mother  last  year." 

We  walked  among  the  tiny  whitewashed  low- 
roofed  cots,  each  with  its  silver-skinned  fishes 
tacked  invitingly  against  the  door-frame  to  dry, 
until  we  came  to  my  favorite,  the  corner  cottage 
m  the  row.  It  has  beautiful  narrow  garden  strips 
in  front,  —  solid  patches  of  color  in  sweet  gilly- 
flower bushes,  from  which  the  kindly  housewife 


1 88  Penelope  s  Progress 

plucked  a  nosegay  for  us.  Her  white  columbines 
she  calls  "  granny's  mutches  ; "  and  indeed  they 
are  not  unlike  those  fresh  white  caps.  Dear 
Robbie  Burns,  ten  inches  high  in  plaster,  stands 
in  the  sunny  window  in  a  tiny  box  of  blossom- 
ing plants  surrounded  by  a  miniature  green  picket 
fence.  Outside,  looming  white  among  the  gilly- 
flowers, is  Sir  Walter,  and  near  him  is  still  another 
and  a  larger  bust  on  a  cracked  pedestal  a  foot 
high,  perhaps.  We  did  not  recognize  the  head 
at  once,  and  asked  the  little  woman  who  it  was. 

"  Homer,  the  graund  Greek  poet,"  she  an- 
swered cheerily;  "an'  I'm  to  have  anither  o' 
Burns,  as  tall  as  Homer,  when  my  daughter 
comes  hame  frae  E'nbro'." 

If  the  shade  of  Homer  keeps  account  of  his 
earthly  triumphs,  I  think  he  is  proud  of  his  place 
in  that  humble  Scotchwoman's  gillyflower  gar- 
den, with  his  head  under  the  drooping  petals  of 
granny's  white  mutches. 

What  do  you  think  her  "mon  "  is  called  in  the 
village  ?  John  o'  Mary  !  But  he  is  not  alone  in 
his  meekness,  for  there  are  Jock  o'  Meg,  Willie 
o'  Janet,  Jem  o'  Tibby,  and  a  dozen  others. 
These  primitive  fishing-villages  are  the  places 
where  all  the  advanced  women  ought  to  con- 
gregate, for  the  wife  is  head  of  the  house ;  the 
accountant,  the  treasurer,  the  auditor,  the  chan- 
cellor of  the  exchequer ;  and  though  her  husband 
does  catch  the  fish  for  her  to  sell,  that  is  ac- 


Penelope  s  Progress  189 

counted  apparently  as  a  detail  too  trivial  for 
notice. 

When  we  passed  Mary's  cottage,  on  our  way 
to  the  sands  next  day,  Burns's  head  had  been 
accidentally  broken  off  by  the  children,  and  we 
felt  as  though  we  had  lost  a  friend ;  but  Scotch 
thrift,  and  loyalty  to  the  dear  Ploughman  Poet, 
came  to  the  rescue,  and  when  we  returned,  Rob- 
bie's plaster  head  had  been  glued  to  his  body. 
He  smiled  at  us  again  from  between  the  two 
scarlet  geraniums,  and  a  tendril  of  ivy  had  been 
gently  curled  about  his  neck  to  hide  the  cruel 
wound. 

After  such  long,  lovely  mornings  as  this,  there 
is  a  late  luncheon  under  the  shadow  of  a  rock 
with  Salemina  and  Francesca,  an  idle  chat,  or  the 
chapter  of  a  book,  and  presently  Lady  Ardmore 
and  her  daughter  Elizabeth  drive  down  to  the 
sands.  They  are  followed  by  Robin  Anstruther, 
Jamie,  and  Ralph  on  bicycles,  and  before  long 
the  stalwart  figure  of  Ronald  Macdonald  appears 
in  the  distance,  just  in  time  for  a  cup  of  tea, 
which  we  brew  in  Lady  Ardmore's  bath-house  on 
the  beach. 


XIX 

"  To  you  I  sing,  in  simple  Scottish  lays, 
The  lowly  train  in  life's  sequester'd  scene  ; 
The  native  feelings  strong,  the  guileless  ways." 

The  Cotter's  Saturday  Night. 

We  have  lived  in  Pettybaw  a  very  short  time, 
but  I  see  that  we  have  already  made  an  impres- 
sion upon  all  grades  of  society.  This  was  not 
our  intention.  We  gave  Edinburgh  as  our  last 
place  of  residence,  with  the  view  of  concealing 
our  nationality,  until  such  time  as  we  should 
choose  to  declare  it  j  that  is,  when  public  excite- 
ment with  regard  to  our  rental  of  the  house  in 
the  loaning  should  have  lapsed  into  a  state  of 
indifference.  And  yet,  modest,  economical,  and 
commonplace  as  has  been  the  administration  of 
our  affairs,  our  method  of  life  has  evidently  been 
thought  unusual,  and  our  conduct  not  precisely 
the  conduct  of  other  summer  visitors.  Even  our 
daily  purchases,  in  manner,  in  number,  and  in 
character,  seem  to  be  looked  upon  as  eccentric,  for 
whenever  we  leave  a  shop,  the  relatives  of  the 
greengrocer,  flesher,  draper,  whoever  it  may  be, 
bound  downstairs,  surround  him  in  an  eager  cir- 
cle, and  inquire  the  latest  news. 

In  an  unwise  moment  we  begged  the  draper's 


Penelope  s  Progress  191 

wife  to  honor  us  with  a  visit  and  explain  the  ob- 
liquities of  the  kitchen  range  and  the  tortuosities 
of  the  sink-spout  to  Miss  Grieve.  While  our 
landlady  was  on  the  premises,  I  took  occasion  to 
invite  her  up  to  my  own  room,  with  a  view  of 
seeing  whether  my  mattress  of  pebbles  and  iron- 
filings  could  be  supplemented  by  another  of  shav- 
ings or  straw,  or  some  material  less  provocative 
of  bodily  injuries.  She  was  most  sympathetic, 
persuasive,  logical,  and  after  the  manner  of  her 
kind  proved  to  me  conclusively  that  the  trouble 
lay  with  the  too-saft  occupant  of  the  bed,  not  with 
the  bed  itself,  and  gave  me  statistics  with  regard 
to  the  latter  which  established  its  reputation  and 
at  the  same  moment  destroyed  my  own. 

She  looked  in  at  the  various  doors  casually  as 
she  passed  up  and  down  the  stairs,  —  all  save 
that  of  the  dining-room,  which  Francesca  had 
prudently  locked  to  conceal  the  fact  that  we  had 
covered  the  family  portraits,  —  and  I  noticed  at 
the  time  that  her  face  wore  an  expression  of 
mingled  grief  and  astonishment.  It  seemed  to 
us  afterward  that  there  was  a  good  deal  more 
passing  up  and  down  the  loaning  than  when  we 
first  arrived.  At  dusk  especially,  small  proces- 
sions of  children  and  young  people  walked  by  our 
cottage  and  gave  shy  glances  at  the  windows. 

Finding  Miss  Grieve  in  an  unusually  amiable 
mood,  I  inquired  the  probable  cause  of  this  phe- 
nomenon.    She  would  not  go  so  far  as  to  give 


192  Penelope  s  Progress 

any  judicial  opinion,  but  offered  a  few  conjec- 
tures. 

It  might  be  the  tirling-pin  ;  it  might  be  the 
white  satin  ribbons  on  the  curtains  ;  it  might  be 
the  guitars  and  banjos  ;  it  might  be  the  bicycle 
crate ;  it  might  be  the  profusion  of  plants  ;  it 
might  be  the  continual  feasting  and  revelry  ;  it 
might  be  the  blazing  fires  in  a  Pettybaw  sum- 
mer. She  thought  a  much  more  likely  reason, 
however,  was  because  it  had  become  known  in 
the  village  that  we  had  moved  every  stick  of 
furniture  in  the  house  out  of  its  accustomed 
place  and  taken  the  dressing-tables  away  from 
the  windows,  —  "thae  windys,"  she  called  them. 

I  discussed  this  matter  fully  with  Mr.  Anstru- 
ther  later  on.  He  laughed  heartily,  but  confessed, 
with  an  amused  relish  of  his  national  conserva- 
tism, that  to  his  mind  there  certainly  was  some- 
thing radical,  advanced,  and  courageous  in  taking 
a  dressing-table  away  from  its  place,  back  to  the 
window,  and  putting  it  anywhere  else  in  a  room. 
He  would  be  frank,  he  said,  and  acknowledge 
that  it  suggested  an  undisciplined  and  lawless 
habit  of  thought,  a  disregard  for  authority,  a 
lack  of  reverence  for  tradition,  and  a  riotous  and 
unbridled  imagination. 

This  view  of  the  matter  gave  us  exquisite  en- 
joyment. "  But  why  ?  "  I  asked  laughingly.  "  The 
dressing-table  is  not  a  sacred  object,  even  to  a 
woman.      Why  treat   it   with   such   veneration  ? 


Penelope  s  Progress  193 

Where  there  is  but  one  good  light,  and  that  im- 
mediately in  front  of  the  window,  there  is  every 
excuse  for  the  British  custom,  but  when  the  light 
is  well  diffused,  why  not  place  the  table  wherever 
it  looks  well  ? " 

"  Ah,  but  it  does  n't  look  well  anywhere  but 
back  to  the  window,"  said  Mr.  Anstruther  art- 
lessly. "  It  belongs  there,  you  see  ;  it  has  prob- 
ably been  there  since  the  time  of  Malcolm  Can- 
more,  unless  Margaret  was  too  pious  to  look  in 
a  mirror.  With  your  national  love  of  change, 
you  cannot  conceive  how  soothing  it  is  to  know 
that  whenever  you  enter  your  gate  and  glance 
upward,  you  will  always  see  the  curtains  parted, 
and  between  them,  like  an  idol  in  a  shrine,  the 
ugly  wooden  back  of  a  little  oval  or  oblong  look- 
ing-glass. It  gives  one  a  sense  of  permanence 
in  a  world  where  all  is  fleeting." 

The  public  interest  in  our  doings  seems  to  be 
entirely  of  a  friendly  nature,  and  if  our  neighbors 
find  a  hundredth  part  of  the  charm  and  novelty 
in  us  that  we  find  in  them,  they  are  fortunate 
indeed,  and  we  cheerfully  sacrifice  our  privacy 
on  the  altar  of  the  public  good. 

A  village  in  Scotland  is  the  only  place  I  can 
fancy  where  housekeeping  becomes  an  enthrall- 
ing occupation.  All  drudgery  disappears  in  a 
rosy  glow  of  unexpected,  unique,  and  stimulat- 
ing conditions.  I  would  rather  superintend  Miss 
Grieve   and   cause   the   light  of   amazement  to 


194  Penelope  s  Progress 

gleam  ten  times  daily  in  her  humid  eye,  than 
lead  a  cotillion  with  Willie  Beresford.  I  would 
rather  do  the  marketing  for  our  humble  break- 
fasts and  teas,  or  talk  over  the  day's  luncheons 
and  dinners  with  Mistress  Brodie  of  the  Petty- 
baw  Inn  and  Posting  Establishment,  than  go  to 
the  opera. 

Salemina  and  Francesca  do  not  enjoy  it  all 
quite  as  intensely  as  I,  so  they  considerately  give 
me  the  lion's  share.  Every  morning,  after  an 
exhilarating  interview  with  the  Niobe  of  our 
kitchen  (who  thinks  me  irresponsible  and  prays 
Heaven  in  her  heart  I  be  no  worse),  I  put  on  my 
galoshes,  take  my  umbrella,  and  trudge  up  and 
down  the  little  streets  and  lanes  on  real,  and  if 
need  be,  imaginary  errands.  The  Duke  of  Wel- 
lington said,  "  When  fair  in  Scotland,  always 
carry  an  umbrella ;  when  it  rains,  please  your- 
self," and  I  sometimes  agree  with  Stevenson's 
shivering  statement,  "  Life  does  not  seem  to  me 
to  be  an  amusement  adapted  to  this  climate."  I 
quoted  this  to  the  doctor  yesterday,  but  he  re- 
marked with  some  surprise  that  he  had  not 
missed  a  day's  golfing  for  weeks.  The  chemist 
observed  as  he  handed  me  a  cake  of  soap,  "  Won- 
'erful  blest  in  weather,  we  are,  mam,"  simply  be- 
cause, the  rain  being  unaccompanied  with  high 
wind,  one  was  enabled  to  hold  up  an  umbrella 
without  having  it  turned  inside  out.  When  it 
ceased  dripping  for  an  hour  at  noon,  the  green- 


Penelope  s  Progress  195 

grocer  said  cheerily,  "  Another  grand  day,  mam  !  " 
I  assented,  though  I  could  not  for  the  life  of  me 
remember  when  the  last  one  occurred.  However, 
dreary  as  the  weather  may  be,  one  cannot  be  dull 
when  doing  one's  morning  round  of  shopping  in 
Pettybaw  or  Strathdee.  I  have  only  to  give  you 
thumb-nail  sketches  of  our  favorite  tradespeople 
to  convince  you  of  that  fact. 

We  bought  our  first  groceries  of  Mrs.  Robert 
Phin,  of  Strathdee,  simply  because  she  is  an  in- 
imitable conversationalist.  She  is  expansive,  too, 
about  family  matters,  and  tells  us  certain  of  her 
"  mon's  "  faults  which  it  would  be  more  seemly 
to  keep  in  the  safe  shelter  of  her  own  bosom. 

Rab  takes  a  wee  drappie  too  much,  it  appears, 
and  takes  it  so  often  that  he  has  little  time  to 
earn  an  honest  penny  for  his  family.  This  is 
bad  enough  ;  but  the  fact  that  Mrs.  Phin  has  been 
twice  wed  before,  and  that  in  each  case  she  inno- 
cently chose  a  ne'er-do-weel  for  a  mate,  makes 
her  a  trifle  cynical.  She  told  me  that  she  had 
laid  twa  husbands  in  the  kirkyard  near  which 
her  little  shop  stands,  and  added  cheerfully,  as  I 
made  some  sympathetic  response,  "An'  I  hope 
it  '11  no  be  lang  afore  I  box  Rab  !  " 

Salemina  objects  to  the  shop  because  it  is  so 
disorderly.  Soap  and  sugar,  tea  and  bloaters, 
starch  and  gingham,  lead  pencils  and  sausages, 
lie  side  by  side  cosily.     Boxes  of  pins  are  kept 


196  Penelope  s  Progress 

on  top  of  kegs  of  herrings.  Tins  of  coffee  are 
distributed  impartially  anywhere  and  everywhere, 
and  the  bacon  sometimes  reposes  in  a  glass  case 
with  small  wares  and  findings,  out  of  the  reach 
of  Alexander's  dogs. 

Alexander  is  one  of  a  brood,  or  perhaps  I 
should  say  three  broods,  of  children  which  wan- 
der among  the  barrels  and  boxes  and  hams  and 
winseys  seeking  what  they  may  devour,  —  a  hand- 
ful of  sugar,  a  prune,  or  a  sweetie. 

We  often  see  the  bairns  at  their  luncheon  or 
dinner  in  a  little  room  just  off  the  shop,  Alexan- 
der the  Small  always  sitting  or  kneeling  on  a 
"creepie,"  holding  his  plate  down  firmly  with  the 
left  hand  and  eating  with  the  right,  whether  the 
food  be  fish,  porridge,  or  broth.  In  the  Phin 
family  the  person  who  does  not  hold  his  plate 
down  runs  the  risk  of  losing  it  to  one  of  the  other 
children  or  to  the  dogs,  who,  with  eager  eye  and 
reminding  paw,  gather  round  the  hospitable  board, 
licking  their  chops  hopefully. 

I  enjoy  these  scenes  very  much,  but  alas,  I 
can  no  longer  witness  them  as  often  as  formerly. 

This  morning  Mrs.  Phin  greeted  me  with  some 
embarrassment. 

"  Maybe  ye  '11  no  ken  me,"  she  said,  her  usu- 
ally clear  speech  a  little  blurred.  "It's  the 
teeth.  I  've  mislaid  'em  somewhere.  I  paid  far 
too  much  siller  for  'em  to  wear  'em  ilka  day. 
Sometimes  I  rest  'em  in  the  tea-box  to  keep  'em 


Penelope  s  Progress  197 

awa'  frae  the  bairns,  but  I  canna  find  'em  theer. 
I  'm  thinkin'  maybe  they  '11  be  in  the  rice,  but 
I  've  been  ower  thrang  to  luik  !  " 

This  anecdote  was  too  rich  to  keep  to  myself, 
but  its  unconscious  humor  made  no  impression 
upon  Salemina,  who  insisted  upon  the  withdrawal 
of  our  patronage.  I  have  tried  to  persuade  her 
that,  whatever  may  be  said  of  tea  and  rice,  we 
run  no  risk  in  buying  eggs ;  but  she  is  relent- 
less. 

The  kirkyard  where  Rab's  two  predecessors 
have  been  laid,  and  where  Rab  will  lie  when  Mrs. 
Phin  has  "  boxed  "  him,  is  a  sleepy  little  place  set 
on  a  gentle  slope  of  ground,  softly  shaded  by 
willow  and  yew  trees.  It  is  inclosed  by  a  stone 
wall,  into  which  an  occasional  ancient  tombstone 
is  built,  its  name  and  date  almost  obliterated  by 
stress  of  time  and  weather. 

We  often  walk  through  its  quiet,  myrtle-bor- 
dered paths  on  our  way  to  the  other  end  of  the 
village,  where  Mrs.  Bruce,  the  flesher,  keeps  an 
unrivaled  assortment  of  beef  and  mutton.  The 
headstones,  many  of  them  laid  flat  upon  the 
graves,  are  interesting  to  us  because  of  their 
quaint  inscriptions,  in  which  the  occupation  of  the 
deceased  is  often  stated  with  modest  pride  and 
candor.  One  expects  to  see  the  achievements 
of  the  soldier,  the  sailor,  or  the  statesman  carved 
in  the  stone  that  marks  his  resting-place,  but  to 


198  Pe7ielopes  Progress 

our  eyes  it  is  strange  enough  to  read  that  the  sub- 
ject of  eulogy  was  a  plumber,  tobacconist,  maker 
of  golf-balls,  or  a  golf  champion  ;  in  which  latter 
case  there  is  a  spirited  etching  or  bas-relief  of 
the  dead  hero,  with  knickerbockers,  cap,  and 
clubs  complete. 

There,  too,  lies  Thomas  Loughead,  Hairdresser, 
a  profession  far  too  little  celebrated  in  song  and 
story.  His  stone  is  a  simple  one  and  bears 
merely  the  touching  tribute  :  — 

He  was  lovely  and  pleasant  in  his  life, 

the  inference  being  to  one  who  knows  a  line  of 
Scripture,  that  in  his  death  he  was  not  divided. 

These  kirkyard  personalities  almost  lead  one 
to  believe  in  the  authenticity  of  the  British  trades- 
man's epitaph,  wherein  his  practical-minded  relict 
stated  that  the  "  bereaved  widow  would  continue 
to  carry  on  the  tripe  and  trotter  business  at  the 
old  stand." 

One  day  when  we  were  walking  through  the 
little  village  of  Strathdee  we  turned  the  corner  of 
a  quiet  side  street  and  came  suddenly  upon  some- 
thing altogether  strange  and  unexpected. 

A  stone  cottage  of  the  every-day  sort  stood  a 
little  back  from  the  road  and  bore  over  its  front 
door  a  sign  announcing  that  Mrs.  Bruce,  Flesher, 
carried  on  her  business  within ;  and  indeed  one 
could  look  through  the  windows  and  see  ruddy 


Penelope  s  Progress  199 

joints  hanging  from  beams,  and  piles  of  pink 
and  white  steaks  and  chops  lying  neatly  on  the 
counter,  crying,  "  Come,  eat  me  !  "  Nevertheless, 
one's^first  glance  would  be  arrested  neither  by 
Mrs.  Bruce's  black-and-gold  sign,  nor  by  the  en- 
ticements of  her  stock  in  trade,  because  one's  at- 
tention is  knocked  squarely  between  the  eyes  by 
an  astonishing  shape  that  arises  from  the  patch 
of  lawn  in  front  of  the  cottage,  and  completely 
dominates  the  scene.  Imagine  yourself  face  to 
face  with  the  last  thing  you  would  expect  to  see 
in  a  modest  front  dooryard,  —  the  figurehead  of  a 
ship,  heroic  in  size,  gorgeous  in  color,  majestic  in 
pose  !  A  female  personage  it  appears  to  be  from 
the  drapery,  which  is  the  only  key  the  artist  fur- 
nishes as  to  sex,  and  a  queenly  female  withal, 
for  she  wears  a  crown  at  least  a  foot  high,  and 
brandishes  a  forbidding  sceptre.  All  this  is  seen 
from  the  front,  but  the  rear  view  discloses  the  fact 
that  the  lady  terminates  in  the  tail  of  a  fish  which 
wriggles  artistically  in  mid-air  and  is  of  a  brittle 
sort,  as  it  has  evidently  been  thrice  broken  and 
glued  together. 

Mrs.  Bruce  did  not  leave  us  long  in  suspense, 
but  obligingly  came  out,  partly  to  comment  on 
the  low  price  of  mutton  and  partly  to  tell  the 
tale  of  the  mammoth  mermaid.  By  rights,  of 
course,  Mrs.  Bruce's  husband  should  have  been 
the  gallant  captain  of  a  bark  which  foundered  at 
sea  and  sent  every  man  to  his  grave  on  the  ocean 


200  Penelope  s  Progress 

bed.  The  ship's  figurehead  should  have  been  dis- 
covered by  some  miracle,  brought  to  the  sorrow- 
ing widow,  and  set  up  in  the  garden  in  eternal 
remembrance  of  the  dear  departed.  This  was 
the  story  in  my  mind,  but  as  a  matter  of  fact  the 
rude  effigy  was  wrought  by  Mrs.  Bruce's  father 
for  a  ship  to  be  called  the  Sea  Queen,  but  by 
some  mischance,  ship  and  figurehead  never  came 
together,  and  the  old  wood-carver  left  it  to  his 
daughter,  in  lieu  of  other  property.  It  has  not 
been  wholly  unproductive,  Mrs.  Bruce  fancies, 
for  the  casual  passers-by,  like  those  who  came 
to  scoff  and  remained  to  pray,  go  into  the  shop 
to  ask  questions  about  the  Sea  Queen  and  buy 
chops  out  of  courtesy  and  gratitude. 

On  our  way  to  the  bakery,  which  is  a  daily 
walk  with  us,  we  always  glance  at  a  little  cot 
in  a  grassy  lane  just  off  the  fore  street.  In  one 
half  of  this  humble  dwelling  Mrs.  Davidson 
keeps  a  slender  stock  of  shop-worn  articles,  — 
pins,  needles,  threads,  sealing-wax,  pencils,  and 
sweeties  for  the  children,  all  disposed  attractively 
upon  a  single  shelf  behind  the  window. 

Across  the  passage,  close  to  the  other  window, 
sits  day  after  day  an  old  woman  of  eighty-six  sum- 
mers who  has  lost  her  kinship  with  the  present 
and  gone  back  to  dwell  forever  in  the  past.  A 
small  table  stands  in  front  of  her  rush-bottomed 
chair,  the  old  family  Bible  rests  on  it,  and  in  front 


Penelope  s  Progress  201 

of  the  Bible  are  always  four  tiny  dolls,  with  which 
the  trembling  old  fingers  play  from  morning  till 
night.  They  are  cheap,  common  little  puppets, 
but  she  robes  and  disrobes  them  with  tenderest 
care.  They  are  put  to  bed  upon  the  Bible,  take 
their  walks  along  its  time-worn  pages,  are  married 
on  it,  buried  on  it,  and  the  direst  punishment  they 
ever  receive  is  to  be  removed  from  its  sacred 
covers  and  temporarily  hidden  beneath  the  dear 
old  soul's  black  alpaca  apron.  She  is  quite  happy 
with  her  treasures  on  week  days  ;  but  on  Sundays 
—  alas  and  alas  !  the  poor  old  dame  sits  in  her 
lonely  chair  with  the  furtive  tears  dropping  on  her 
wrinkled  cheeks,  for  it  is  a  God-fearing  house- 
hold, and  it  is  neither  lawful  nor  seemly  to  play 
with  dolls  on  the  Sawbath ! 

Mrs.  Nicolson  is  the  presiding  genius  of  the 
bakery  ;  she  is  more  —  she  is  the  bakery  itself.  A 
Mr.  Nicolson  there  is,  and  he  is  known  to  be  the 
baker,  but  he  dwells  in  the  regions  below  the 
shop  and  only  issues  at  rare  intervals,  beneath 
the  friendly  shelter  of  a  huge  tin  tray  filled  with 
scones  and  baps. 

If  you  saw  Mrs.  Nicolson 's  kitchen  with  the 
firelight  gleaming  on  its  bright  copper,  its  polished 
candlesticks,  and  its  snowy  floor,  you  would  think 
her  an  admirable  housewife,  but  you  would  get 
no  clue  to  those  shrewd  and  masterful  traits  of 
character  which  reveal  themselves  chiefly  behind 
the  counter. 


202  Penelope  s  Progress 

Miss  Grieve  had  purchased  of  Mrs.  Nicolson 
a  quarter  section  of  very  appetizing  ginger  cake 
to  eat  with  our  afternoon  tea,  and  I  stopped  in  to 
buy  more.  She  showed  me  a  large,  round  loaf 
for  two  shillings. 

"  No,"  I  objected,  "  I  cannot  use  a  whole  loaf, 
thank  you.  We  eat  very  little  at  a  time  and  like 
it  perfectly  fresh.  I  wish  a  small  piece  such  as 
my  maid  bought  the  other  day." 

Then  ensued  a  discourse  which  I  cannot  ren- 
der in  the  vernacular,  more  's  the  pity,  though  I 
understood  it  all  too  well  for  my  comfort.  The 
substance  of  it  was  this :  that  she  couldna  and 
wouldna  tak'  it  in  hand  to  give  me  a  quarter  sec- 
tion of  cake  when  the  other  three  quarters  might 
gae  dry  in  the  bakery  ;  that  the  reason  she  sold 
the  small  piece  on  the  former  occasion  was  that 
her  daughter,  her  son-in-law,  and  their  three  chil- 
dren came  from  Ballahoolish  to  visit  her,  and 
she  gave  them  a  high  tea  with  no  expense  spared ; 
that  at  this  function  they  devoured  three  fourths 
of  a  ginger  cake,  and  just  as  she  was  mournfully 
regarding  the  remainder  my  servant  came  in  and 
took  it  off  her  hands  j  that  she  had  kept  a  bak- 
ery for  thirty  years  and  her  mother  before  her, 
and  never  had  a  two-shilling  ginger  cake  been 
sold  in  pieces  before,  nor  was  it  likely  ever  to 
occur  again  ;  that  if  I,  under  Providence  so  to 
speak,  had  been  the  fortunate  gainer  by  the  trans- 
action, why  not  eat  my  six-pennyworth  in  solemn 


Penelope  s  Progress  203 

gratitude  once  for  all,  and  not  expect  a  like  mir- 
acle to  happen  the  next  week  ?  And  finally,  that 
two-shilling  ginger  cakes  were,  in  the  very  nature 
of  things,  designed  for  large  families  ;  and  it  was 
the  part  of  wisdom  for  small  families  to  fix  their 
affections  on  something  else,  for  she  couldna  and 
wouldna  tak'  it  in  hand  to  cut  a  rare  and  expen- 
sive article  for  a  small  customer. 

The  torrent  of  logic  was  over,  and  I  said  humbly 
that  I  would  take  the  whole  loaf. 

"  Verra  weel,  mam,"  she  responded  more  affa- 
bly, "  thank  you  kindly ;  no,  I  couldna  tak'  it  in 
hand  to  sell  six  pennyworth  of  that  ginger  cake 
and  let  one  and  sixpence  worth  gae  dry  in  the 
bakery  —  A  beautiful  day,  mam !  Won'erful 
blest  in  weather  ye  are  !  Let  me  open  your  um- 
brella for  you,  mam  !  " 

David  Robb  is  the  weaver  of  Pettybaw.  All 
day  long  he  sits  at  his  old-fashioned  hand-loom, 
which,  like  the  fruit  of  his  toil  and  the  dear  old 
graybeard  himself,  belongs  to  a  day  that  is  past 
and  gone. 

He  might  have  work  enough  to  keep  an  ap- 
prentice busy,  but  where  would  he  find  a  lad 
sufficiently  behind  the  times  to  learn  a  humble 
trade  now  banished  to  the  limbo  of  superseded, 
almost  forgotten  things  ? 

His  home  is  but  a  poor  place,  but  the  rough 
room  in  which  he  works  is  big  enough  to  hold  a 


204  Penelope  s  Progress 

deal  of  sweet  content.  It  is  cheery  enough,  too, 
to  attract  the  Pettybaw  weans,  who  steal  in  on 
wet  days  and  sit  on  the  floor  playing  with  the 
thrums,  or  with  bits  of  colored  ravelings.  Some- 
times when  they  have  proved  themselves  wise 
and  prudent  little  virgins,  they  are  even  allowed 
to  touch  the  hanks  of  pink  and  yellow  and  blue 
yarn  that  lie  in  rainbow-hued  confusion  on  the 
long  deal  table. 

All  this  time  the  "  heddles  "  go  up  and  down, 
up  and  down,  with  their  ceaseless  clatter,  and 
David  throws  the  shuttle  back  and  forth  as  he 
weaves  his  old-fashioned  winceys. 

We  have  grown  to  be  good  friends,  David  and 
I,  and  I  have  been  permitted  the  signal  honor  of 
painting  him  at  his  work. 

The  loom  stands  by  an  eastern  window,  and 
the  rare  Pettybaw  sunshine  filters  through  the 
branches  of  a  tree,  shines  upon  the  dusty  window- 
panes,  and  throws  a  halo  round  David's  head 
that  he  well  deserves  and  little  suspects.  In  my 
foreground  sit  Meg  and  Jean  and  Elspeth  play- 
ing with  thrums  and  wearing  the  fruit  of  David's 
loom  in  their  gingham  frocks.  David  himself 
sits  on  his  wooden  bench  behind  the  maze  of 
cords  that  form  the  "  loom  harness." 

The  snows  of  seventy  winters  powder  his  hair 
and  beard.  His  spectacles  are  often  pushed 
back  on  his  kindly  brow,  but  no  glass  could 
wholly  obscure  the  clear  integrity  and  steadfast 


Penelope  s  Progress  205 

purity  of  his  eyes ;  and  as  for  his  smile  I  have 
not  the  art  to  paint  that !  It  holds  in  solution 
so  many  sweet  though  humble  virtues  of  patience, 
temperance,  self-denial,  honest  endeavor,  that  my 
brush  falters  in  the  attempt  to  fix  the  radiant 
whole  upon  the  canvas.  Fashions  come  and  go, 
modern  improvements  transform  the  arts  and 
trades,  manual  skill  gives  way  to  the  cunning  of 
the  machine,  but  old  David  Robb,  after  more 
than  fifty  years  of  toil,  still  sits  at  his  hand- 
loom  and  weaves  his  winseys  for  the  Pettybaw 
bairnies. 

David  has  small  book-learning,  so  he  tells  me  ; 
and  indeed  he  had  need  to  tell  me,  for  I  should 
never  have  discovered  it  myself,  —  one  misses  it 
so  little  when  the  larger  things  are  all  present ! 

A  certain  summer  visitor  in  Pettybaw  (a  com- 
patriot of  ours,  by  the  way)  bought  a  quantity  of 
David's  orange-colored  winsey,  and  finding  that 
it  wore  like  iron,  wished  to  order  more.  She 
used  the  word  "  reproduce  "  in  her  telegram,  as 
there  was  one  pattern  and  one  color  she  spe- 
cially liked.  Perhaps  the  context  was  not  illumi- 
nating, but  at  any  rate  the  word  "  reproduce " 
was  not  in  David's  vocabulary,  and  putting  back 
his  spectacles  he  told  me  his  difficulty  in  de- 
ciphering the  exact  meaning  of  his  fine-lady 
patron.  He  called  at  the  Free  kirk  manse,  —  the 
meenister  was  no  at  hame  ;  then  to  the  library,  — 
it  was  closed  ;  then  to  the  Established  manse,  — 


206  Penelope  s  Progress 

the  meenister  was  awa\  At  last  he  obtained 
a  glance  at  the  schoolmaster's  dictionary,  and 
turning  to  "  reproduce "  found  that  it  meant 
"  naught  but  mak1  ower  again  ;  "  —  and  with  an 
amused  smile  at  the  bedevilments  of  language 
he  turned  once  more  to  his  loom  and  I  to  my 
canvas. 

Notwithstanding  his  unfamiliarity  with  lang- 
nebbit  words,  David  has  absorbed  a  deal  of  wis- 
dom in  his  quiet  life  ;  though  so  far  as  I  can  see, 
his  only  books  have  been  the  green  tree  outside 
his  window,  a  glimpse  of  the  distant  ocean,  and 
the  toil  of  his  hands. 

But  I  sometimes  question  if  as  many  scholars 
are  not  made  as  marred  in  this  wise,  for,  —  to 
the  seeing  eye,  —  the  waving  leaf  and  the  far  sea, 
the  daily  task,  one's  own  heart-beats,  and  one's 
neighbor's,  —  these  teach  us  in  good  time  to  in- 
terpret Nature's  secrets,  and  man's,  and  God's 
as  well. 


XX 

M  The  knights  they  harpit  in  their  bow'r, 
The  ladyes  sew'd  and  sang  ; 
The  mirth  that  was  in  that  chamber 
Through  all  the  place  it  rang." 

Rose  the  Red  and  White  Lily. 

Tea  at  Rowardennan  Castle  is  an  impressive 
and  a  delightful  function.  It  is  served  by  a  min- 
isterial-looking butler  and  a  just-ready-to-be-or- 
dained footman.  They  both  look  as  if  they  had 
been  nourished  on  the  Thirty-Nine  Articles,  but 
they  know  their  business  as  well  as  if  they  had 
been  trained  in  heathen  lands, — which  is  saying 
a  good  deal,  for  everybody  knows  that  heathen 
servants  wait  upon  one  with  idolatrous  solicitude. 
However,  from  the  quality  of  the  cheering  bever- 
age itself  down  to  the  thickness  of  the  cream,  the 
thinness  of  the  china,  the  crispness  of  the  toast, 
and  the  plummyness  of  the  cake,  tea  at  Row- 
ardennan Castle  is  perfect  in  every  detail. 

The  scones  are  of  unusual  lightness,  also.  I 
should  think  they  would  scarcely  weigh  more 
than  four,  perhaps  even  five,  to  a  pound ;  but  I 
am  aware  that  the  casual  traveler,  who  eats  only 
at  hotels,  and  never  has  the  privilege  of  entering 
feudal  castles,  will  be  slow  to  believe  this  esti- 
mate, particularly  just  after  breakfast. 


208  Penelope  s  Progress 

Salemina  always  describes  a  Scotch  scone  as 
an  aspiring  but  unsuccessful  soda  biscuit  of  the 
New  England  sort.  Stevenson,  in  writing  of  that 
dense  black  substance,  inimical  to  life,  called 
Scotch  bun,  says  that  the  patriotism  that  leads  a 
Scotsman  to  eat  it  will  hardly  desert  him  in  any 
emergency.  Salemina  thinks  that  the  scone 
should  be  bracketed  with  the  bun  (in  description, 
of  course,  never  in  the  human  stomach),  and  says 
that,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  "  th'  unconquer'd  Scot " 
of  old  was  not  only  clad  in  a  shirt  of  mail,  but 
well  fortified  within  when  he  went  forth  to  war- 
fare after  a  meal  of  oatmeal  and  scones.  She  in- 
sists that  the  spear  which  would  pierce  the  shirt 
of  mail  would  be  turned  aside  and  blunted  by  the 
ordinary  scone  of  commerce ;  but  what  signifies 
the  opinion  of  a  woman  who  eats  sugar  on  her 
porridge  ? 

Considering  the  air  of  liberal  hospitality  that 
hangs  about  the  castle  tea-table,  I  wonder  that 
our  friends  do  not  oftener  avail  themselves  of  its 
privileges  and  allow  us  to  do  so ;  but  on  all  dark, 
foggy,  or  inclement  days,  or  whenever  they  tire 
of  the  sands,  everybody  persists  in  taking  tea-  at 
Bide-a-Wee  Cottage. 

We  buy  our  tea  of  the  Pettybaw  grocer,  some 
of  our  cups  are  cracked,  the  teapot  is  of  earthen- 
ware, Miss  Grieve  disapproves  of  all  social  tea- 
fuddles  and  shows  it  plainly  when  she  brings  in 
the  tray,  and  the  room  is  so  small  that  some  of 


Penelope  s  Progress  209 

us  overflow  into  the  hall  or  the  garden j  it  mat- 
ters not ;  there  is  some  fatal  charm  in  our  hum- 
ble hospitality.  At  four  o'clock  one  of  us  is 
obliged  to  be,  like  Sister  Anne,  on  the  housetop ; 
and  if  company  approaches,  she  must  descend 
and  speed  to  the  plumber's  for  sixpenny  worth 
extra  of  cream.  In  most  well-ordered  British 
households  Miss  Grieve  would  be  requested  to 
do  this  speeding,  but  both  her  mind  and  her 
body  move  too  slowly  for  such  domestic  crises ; 
and  then,  too,  her  temper  has  to  be  kept  as  un- 
ruffled as  possible,  so  that  she  will  cut  the  bread 
and  butter  thin.  This  she  generally  does  if  she 
has  not  been  "fair  doun-hadden  wi'  wark;"  but 
the  washing  of  her  own  spinster  cup  and  plate, 
together  with  the  incident  sighs  and  groans,  oc- 
cupies her  till  so  late  an  hour  that  she  is  not 
always  dressed  for  callers. 

Willie  and  I  were  reading  "  The  Lady  of  the 
Lake,"  the  other  day,  in  the  back  garden,  sur- 
rounded by  the  verdant  leafage  of  our  own  kail- 
yard. It  is  a  pretty  spot  when  the  sun  shines, 
a  trifle  domestic  in  its  air,  perhaps,  but  restful  : 
Miss  Grieve's  dish-towels  and  aprons  drying  on 
the  currant  bushes,  the  cat  playing  with  a  mut- 
ton-bone or  a  fishtail  on  the  grass,  and  the  little 
birds  perching  on  the  rims  of  our  wash-boiler  and 
water-buckets.  It  can  be  reached  only  by  way 
of  the  kitchen,  which  somewhat  lessens  its  value 
as   a  pleasure-ground   or   a   rustic   retreat,   but 


210  Penelope  s  Progress 

Willie  and  I  retire  there  now  and  then  for  a 
quiet  chat. 

On  this  particular  occasion  Willie  was  declaim- 
ing the  exciting  verses  where  Fitzjames  and 
Murdoch  are  crossing  the  stream 

"  That  joins  Loch  Katrine  to  Achray," 

where   the   crazed   Blanche   of   Devan  first   ap- 
pears :  — 

"  All  in  the  Trosachs'  glen  was  still, 
Noontide  was  sleeping  on  the  hill : 
Sudden  his  guide  whoop'd  loud  and  high  — 

'  Murdoch  !  was  that  a  signal  cry  ? '  " 

"It  was  indeed,"  said  Francesca,  appearing 
suddenly  at  an  upper  window  overhanging  the 
garden.  "  Pardon  this  intrusion,  but  the  castle 
people  are  here,"  she  continued  in  what  is  known 
as  a  stage  whisper,  —  that  is,  one  that  can  be 
easily  heard  by  a  thousand  persons,  —  "  the  cas- 
tle people  and  the  ladies  from  Pettybaw  House  ; 
and  Mr.  Macdonald  is  coming  down  the  loaning ; 
but  Calamity  Jane  is  making  her  toilette  in  the 
kitchen,  and  you  cannot  take  Mr.  Beresford 
through  into  the  sitting-room  at  present.  She 
says  this  hoose  has  so  few  conveniences  that 
it's  'fair  sickeninV  " 

"  How  long  will  she  be  ?  "  queried  Mr.  Beres- 
ford anxiously,  putting  "  The  Lady  of  the  Lake  " 
in  his  pocket,  and  pacing  up  and  down  between 
the  rows  of  cabbages. 

"  She    has    just   begun.      Whatever  you   do, 


Penelope  s  Progress  2 1 1 

don't  unsettle  her  temper,  for  she  will  have  to 
prepare  for  eight  to-day.  I  will  send  Mr.  Mac- 
donald  and  Miss  Macrae  to  the  bakery  for  gin- 
gerbread, to  gain  time,  and  possibly  I  can  think 
of  a  way  to  rescue  you.  If  I  can't,  are  you  tol- 
erably comfortable  ?  Perhaps  Miss  Grieve  won't 
mind  Penelope,  and  she  can  come  through  the 
kitchen  any  time  and  join  us  ;  but  naturally  you 
don't  want  to  be  separated,  that 's  the  worst  of 
being  engaged.  Of  course  I  can  lower  your  tea 
in  a  tin  bucket,  and  if  it  should  rain  I  can  throw 
out  umbrellas.  Would  you  like  your  golf-cape, 
Pen  ?  '  Won  'erf  ul  blest  in  weather  ye  are,  mam  ! ' 
The  situation  is  not  so  bad  as  it  might  be," 
she  added  consolingly,  "  because  in  case  Miss 
Grieve's  toilette  should  last  longer  than  usual, 
your  wedding  need  not  be  indefinitely  postponed, 
for  Mr.  Macdonald  can  marry  you  from  this 
window." 

Here  she  disappeared,  and  we  had  scarcely 
time  to  take  in  the  full  humor  of  the  affair  before 
Robin  Anstruther's  laughing  eyes  appeared  over 
the  top  of  the  high  brick  wall  that  protects  our 
garden  on  three  sides. 

"  Do  not  shoot,"  said  he.  "  I  am  not  come 
to  steal  the  fruit,  but  to  succor  humanity  in  dis- 
tress. Miss  Monroe  insisted  that  I  should  borrow 
the  inn  ladder.  She  thought  a  rescue  would 
be  much  more  romantic  than  waiting  for  Miss 
Grieve.     Everybody  is  coming  out  to  witness  it, 


212  Penelope  s  Progress 

at  least  all  your  guests,  —  there  are  no  strangers 
present,  —  and  Miss  Monroe  is  already  collect- 
ing sixpence  a  head  for  the  entertainment,  to  be 
given,  she  says,  to  Mr.  Macdonald's  sustentation 
fund." 

He  was  now  astride  of  the  wall,  and  speedily 
lifted  the  ladder  to  our  side,  where  it  leaned 
comfortably  against  the  stout  branches  of  the 
draper's  peach  vine.  Willie  ran  nimbly  up  the 
ladder  and  bestrode  the  wall.  I  followed,  first 
standing,  and  then  decorously  sitting  down  on 
the  top  of  it.  Mr.  Anstruther  pulled  up  the  lad- 
der, and  replaced  it  on  the  side  of  liberty ;  then 
he  descended,  then  Willie,  and  I  last  of  all, 
amidst  the  acclamations  of  the  on-lookers,  a  se- 
lect company  of  six  or  eight  persons. 

When  Miss  Grieve  formally  entered  the  sit- 
ting-room bearing  the  tea-tray,  she  was  busk  it 
braw  in  black  stuff  gown,  clean  apron,  and  fresh 
cap  trimmed  with  purple  ribbons,  under  which 
her  white  locks  were  neatly  dressed. 

She  deplored  the  coolness  of  the  tea,  but  ac- 
counted for  it  to  me  in  an  aside  by  the  sickening 
quality  of  Mrs.  Sinkler's  coals  and  Mr.  Mac- 
brose's  kindling-wood,  to  say  nothing  of  the  in- 
sulting draft  in  the  draper's  range.  When  she 
left  the  room,  I  suppose  she  was  unable  to  ex- 
plain the  peals  of  laughter  that  rang  through  our 
circumscribed  halls. 

Lady  Ardmore  insists  that  the  rescue  was  the 


Penelopes  Progress  213 

most  unique  episode  she  ever  witnessed,  and 
says  that  she  never  understood  America  until 
she  made  our  acquaintance.  I  persuaded  her 
that  this  was  fallacious  reasoning  j  that  while 
she  might  understand  us  by  knowing  America, 
she  could  not  possibly  reverse  this  mental  opera- 
tion and  be  sure  of  the  result.  The  ladies  of 
Pettybaw  House  said  that  the  occurrence  was  as 
Fiflsh  as  anything  that  ever  happened  in  Fife. 
The  kingdom  of  Fife  is  noted,  it  seems,  for  its 
"doocots  [dovecotes]  and  its  daft  lairds,"  and  to 
be  eccentric  and  Fifish  are  one  and  the  same 
thing.  Thereupon  Francesca  told  Mr.  Macdonald 
a  story  she  heard  in  Edinburgh,  to  the  effect  that 
when  a  certain  committee  or  council  was  quarrel- 
ing as  to  which  of  certain  Fifeshire  towns  should 
be  the  seat  of  a  projected  lunatic  asylum,  a  new 
resident  arose  and  suggested  that  the  building 
of  a  wall  round  the  kingdom  of  Fife  would  solve 
the  difficulty,  settle  all  disputes,  and  give  suffi- 
cient room  for  the  lunatics  to  exercise  properly. 

This  is  the  sort  of  tale  that  a  native  can  tell 
with  a  genial  chuckle,  but  it  comes  with  poor 
grace  from  an  American  lady  sojourning  in  Fife. 
Francesca  does  not  mind  this,  however,  as  she 
is  at  present  avenging  fresh  insults  to  her  own 
beloved  country. 


XXI 

"  With  mimic  din  of  stroke  and  ward 
The  broadsword  upon  target  jarr'd." 

The  Lady  of  the  Lake. 

Robin  Anstruther  was  telling  stories  at  the 
tea-table. 

"  I  got  acquainted  with  an  American  girl  in 
rather  a  queer  sort  of  way,"  he  said,  between 
cups.  "  It  was  in  London,  on  the  Duke  of 
York's  wedding-day.  I'm  rather  a  tall  chap, 
you  see,  and  in  the  crowd  somebody  touched  me 
on  the  shoulder  and  a  plaintive  voice  behind  me 
said,  '  You  're  such  a  big  man,  and  I  am  so  little, 
will  you  please  help  me  to  save  my  life  ?  My 
mother  was  separated  from  me  in  the  crowd 
somewhere  as  we  were  trying  to  reach  the  Berke- 
ley, and  I  don't  know  what  to  do.'  I  was  a  trifle 
nonplused,  but  I  did  the  best  I  could.  She  was 
a  tiny  thing,  in  a  marvelous  frock  and  a  flowery 
hat  and  a  silver  girdle  and  chatelaine.  In 
another  minute  she  spied  a  second  man,  an 
officer,  a  full  head  taller  than  I  am,  broad 
shoulders,  splendidly  put  up  altogether.  Bless 
me!  if  she  didn't  turn  to  him  and  say,  'Oh, 
you  're  so  nice  and  big,  you  're  even  bigger  than 
this  other  gentleman,  and  I  need  you  both  in 


Penelopes  Progress  215 

this  dreadful  crush.  If  you  '11  be  good  enough 
to  stand  on  either  side  of  me,  I  shall  be  awfully 
obliged.'  We  exchanged  amused  glances  of  em- 
barrassment over  her  blonde  head,  but  there  was 
no  resisting  the  irresistible.  She  was  a  small 
person,  but  she  had  the  soul  of  a  general,  and 
we  obeyed  orders.  We  stood  guard  over  her 
little  ladyship  for  nearly  an  hour,  and  I  must 
say  she  entertained  us  thoroughly,  for  she  was 
as  clever  as  she  was  pretty.  Then  I  got  her  a 
seat  in  one  of  the  windows  of  my  club,  while  the 
other  man,  armed  with  a  full  description,  went 
out  to  hunt  up  the  mother  j  and  by  Jove  !  he 
found  her,  too.  She  would  have  her  mother, 
and  her  mother  she  had.  They  were  awfully 
jolly  people ;  they  came  to  luncheon  in  my 
chambers  at  the  Albany  afterwards,  and  we  grew 
to  be  great  friends." 

"  I  dare  say  she  was  an  English  girl  masquer- 
ading," I  remarked  facetiously.  "What  made 
you  think  her  an  American  ?  " 

"  Oh,  her  general  appearance  and  accent,  I 
suppose." 

"  Probably  she  did  n't  say  Barkley,"  observed 
Francesca  cuttingly ;  "  she  would  have  been  sure 
to  commit  that  sort  of  solecism." 

"  Why,  don't  you  say  Barkley  in  the  States  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not ;  we  never  call  them  the  States, 
and  with  us  c-1-e-r-k  spells  clerk,  and  B-e-r-k 
Berk." 


216  Penelope  s  Progress 

"  How  very  odd  !  "  remarked  Mr.  Anstruther. 

"  No  odder  than  your  saying  Bark,  and  not 
half  as  odd  as  your  calling  it  Albany,"  I  interpo- 
lated, to  help  Francesca. 

"  Quite  so,"  said  Mr.  Anstruther ;  "  but  how 
do  you  say  Albany  in  America  ?  " 

"  Penelope  and  I  allways  call  it  Allbany,"  re- 
sponded Francesca  nonsensically,  "but  Salemina, 
who  has  been  much  in  England,  always  calls  it 
Albany." 

This  anecdote  was  the  signal  for  Miss  Ardmore 
to  remark  (apropos  of  her  own  discrimination  and 
the  American  accent)  that  hearing  a  lady  ask  for 
a  certain  med'cine  in  a  chemist's  shop,  she  noted 
the  intonation,  and  inquired  of  the  chemist,  when 
the  fair  stranger  had  retired,  if  she  were  not  an 
American.  "  And  she  was  ! "  exclaimed  the 
Honorable  Elizabeth  triumphantly.  "  And  what 
makes  it  the  more  curious,  she  had  been  over 
here  twenty  years,  and  of  course  spoke  English 
quite  properly." 

In  avenging  fancied  insults,  it  is  certainly  more 
just  to  heap  punishment  on  the  head  of  the  real 
offender  than  upon  his  neighbor,  and  it  is  a  trifle 
difficult  to  decide  why  Francesca  should  chastise 
Mr.  Macdonald  for  the  good-humored  sins  of  Mr. 
Anstruther  and  Miss  Ardmore ;  yet  she  does  so, 
nevertheless. 

The  history  of  these  chastisements  she  re- 
counts in  the  nightly  half-hour  which  she  spends 


Penelope  s  Progress  217 

with  me  when  I  am  endeavoring  to  compose  my- 
self for  sleep.  Francesca  is  fluent  at  all  times, 
but  once  seated  on  the  foot  of  my  bed  she  be- 
comes eloquent ! 

"  It  all  began  with  his  saying  "  — 

This  is  her  perennial  introduction,  and  I  re- 
spond as  invariably,  "  What  began  ?  " 

"  Oh,  to-day's  argument  with  Mr.  Macdonald. 
It  was  a  literary  quarrel  this  afternoon." 

"  '  Fools  rush  in '  "  —  I  quoted. 

"  There  is  a  good  deal  of  nonsense  in  that  old 
saw,"  she  interrupted ;  "  at  all  events,  the  most 
foolish  fools  I  have  ever  known  stayed  still  and 
didn't  do  anything.  Rushing  shows  a  certain 
movement  of  the  mind,  even  if  it  is  in  the  wrong 
direction.  However,  Mr.  Macdonald  is  both 
opinionated  and  dogmatic,  but  his  worst  enemy 
could  never  call  him  a  fool." 

u  I  did  n't  allude  to  Mr.  Macdonald." 

"  Don't  you  suppose  I  know  to  whom  you  al- 
luded, dear  ?  Is  not  your  style  so  simple,  frank, 
and  direct  that  a  wayfaring  girl  can  read  it  and 
not  err  therein  ?  No,  I  am  not  sitting  on  your 
feet,  and  it  is  not  time  to  go  to  sleep ;  I  wonder 
you  do  not  tire  of  making  these  futile  protests. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  we  began  this  literary  discus- 
sion yesterday  morning,  but  were  interrupted  ;  and 
knowing  that  it  was  sure  to  come  up  again,  I  pre- 
pared for  it  with  Salemina.  She  furnished  the 
ammunition,  so  to  speak,  and  I  fired  the  guns." 


218  Penelopes  Progress 

"  You  always  make  so  much  noise  with  blank 
cartridges  I  wonder  you  ever  bother  about  real 
shot,"  I  remarked. 

"  Penelope,  how  can  you  abuse  me  when  I  am 
in  trouble  ?  Well,  Mr.  Macdonald  was  prating, 
as  usual,  about  the  antiquity  of  Scotland  and  its 
aeons  of  stirring  history.  I  am  so  weary  of  the 
venerableness  of  this  country.  How  old  will  it 
have  to  be,  I  wonder,  before  it  gets  used  to  it  ?  If 
it 's  the  province  of  art  to  conceal  art,  it  ought  to 
be  the  province  of  age  to  conceal  age,  and  it  gen- 
erally is.  '  Everything  does  n't  improve  with 
years,'  I  observed  sententiously. 

"  '  For  instance  ? '  he  inquired. 

"  Of  course  you  know  how  that  question  af- 
fected me !  How  I  do  dislike  an  appetite  for 
specific  details !  It  is  simply  paralyzing  to  a 
good  conversation.  Do  you  remember  that  silly 
game  in  which  some  one  points  a  stick  at  you  and 
says,  '  Beast,  bird,  or  fish,  —  beast!9  and  you  have 
to  name  one  while  he  counts  ten  ?  If  a  beast 
has  been  requested,  you  can  think  of  one  fish 
and  two  birds,  but  no  beasts.  If  he  says  '  Fish,' 
all  the  beasts  in  the  universe  stalk  through  your 
memory,  but  not  one  finny,  scaly,  swimming 
thing  !  Well,  that  is  the  effect  of  (  For  instance  ? ' 
on  my  faculties.  So  I  stumbled  a  bit,  and  suc- 
ceeded in  recalling,  as  objects  which  do  not  im- 
prove with  age,  mushrooms,  women,  and  chickens, 
and  he  was  obliged  to  agree  with  me,  which  nearly 


Penelope  s  Progress  219 

killed  him.  Then  I  said  that  although  America 
is  so  fresh  and  blooming  that  people  persist  in 
calling  it  young,  it  is  much  older  than  it  appears 
to  the  superficial  eye.  There  is  no  real  propriety 
in  dating  us  as  a  nation  from  the  Declaration  of 
Independence  in  1776,  I  said,  nor  even  from  the 
landing  of  the  Pilgrims  in  1620;  nor,  for  that 
matter,  from  Columbus's  discovery  in  1492.  It's 
my  opinion,  I  asserted,  that  some  of  us  had  been 
there  thousands  of  years  before,  but  nobody  had 
had  the  sense  to  discover  us.  We  could  n't  dis- 
cover ourselves,  —  though  if  we  could  have  fore- 
seen how  the  sere  and  yellow  nations  of  the 
earth  would  taunt  us  with  youth  and  inexperience, 
we  should  have  had  to  do  something  desperate  !  " 

"  That  theory  must  have  been  very  convincing 
to  the  philosophic  Scots  mind,"  I  interjected. 

"  It  was ;  even  Mr.  Macdonald  thought  it  in- 
genious. '  And  so,'  I  went  on,  '  we  were  alive 
and  awake  and  beginning  to  make  history  when 
you  Scots  were  only  barelegged  savages  roaming 
over  the  hills  and  stealing  cattle.  It  was  a  very 
bad  habit  of  yours,  that  cattle-stealing,  and  one 
which  you  kept  up  too  long.' 

" '  No  worse  a  sin  than  your  stealing  land  from 
the  Indians,'  he  said. 

" '  Oh  yes,'  I  answered,  '  because  it  was  a 
smaller  one  !  Yours  was  a  vice,  and  ours  a  sin  ; 
or  I  mean  it  would  have  been  a  sin  had  we  done 
it ;  but  in  reality  we  did  n't  steal  land  ;  we  just 


220  Penelope  s  Progress 

took  it,  reserving  plenty  for  the  Indians  to  play 
about  on  j  and  for  every  hunting-ground  we  took 
away  we  gave  them  in  exchange  a  serviceable 
plough,  or  a  school,  or  a  nice  Indian  agent,  or 
something.  That  was  land-grabbing,  if  you  like, 
but  it  is  a  habit  you  Britishers  have  still,  while 
we  gave  it  up  when  we  reached  years  of  discre- 
tion.' " 

"This  is  very  illuminating,"  I  interrupted,  now 
thoroughly  wide  awake,  "  but  it  is  n't  my  idea  of 
a  literary  discussion." 

"  I  am  coming  to  that,"  she  responded.  "  It 
was  just  at  this  point  that,  goaded  into  secret 
fury  by  my  innocent  speech  about  cattle-stealing, 
he  began  to  belittle  American  literature,  the 
poetry  especially.  Of  course  he  waxed  eloquent 
about  the  royal  line  of  poet-kings  that  had  made 
his  country  famous,  and  said  the  people  who 
could  claim  Shakespeare  had  reason  to  be  the 
proudest  nation  on  earth.  '  Doubtless,'  I  said. 
*  But  do  you  mean  to  say  that  Scotland  has  any 
nearer  claim  upon  Shakespeare  than  we  have  ? 
I  do  not  now  allude  to  the  fact  that  in  the  large 
sense  he  is  the  common  property  of  the  English- 
speaking  world '  (Salemina  told  me  to  say  that), 
'but  Shakespeare  died  in  1616,  and  the  union  of 
Scotland  with  England  didn't  come  about  till 
1707,  nearly  a  century  afterwards.  You  really 
have  n't  anything  to  do  with  him  !  But  as  for  us, 
we  did  n't  leave  England  until  1620,  when  Shake- 


Penelope  s  Progress  221 

speare  had  been  perfectly  dead  four  years.  We 
took  very  good  care  not  to  come  away  too  soon. 
Chaucer  and  Spenser  were  dead,  too,  and  we  had 
nothing  to  stay  for  ! '  " 

I  was  obliged  to  relax  here  and  give  vent  to  a 
burst  of  merriment  at  Francesca's  absurdities. 

"  I  could  see  that  he  had  never  regarded  the 
matter  in  that  light  before,"  she  went  on  gayly, 
encouraged  by  my  laughter,  "  but  he  braced  him- 
self for  the  conflict,  and  said,  '  I  wonder  that  you 
did  n't  stay  a  little  longer  while  you  were  about  it. 
Milton  and  Ben  Jonson  were  still  alive ;  Bacon's 
Novum  Organum  was  just  coming  out ;  and  in 
thirty  or  forty  years  you  could  have  had  L' Al- 
legro, II  Penseroso,  and  Paradise  Lost;  Newton's 
Principia,  too,  in  1687.  Perhaps  these  were  all 
too  serious  and  heavy  for  your  national  taste ; 
still,  one  sometimes  likes  to  claim  things  one 
cannot  fully  appreciate.  And  then,  too,  if  you 
had  once  begun  to  stay,  waiting  for  the  great 
things  to  happen  and  the  great  books  to  be  writ- 
ten, you  would  never  have  gone,  for  there  would 
still  have  been  Browning,  Tennyson,  and  Swin- 
burne to  delay  you.' 

" '  If  we  could  n't  stay  to  see  out  your  great 
bards,  we  certainly  could  n't  afford  to  remain  and 
welcome  your  minor  ones,'  I  answered  frigidly ; 
'but  we  wanted  to  be  well  out  of  the  way  before 
England  united  with  Scotland,  knowing  that  if 
we  were  uncomfortable  as  things  were,  it  would 


222  Penelope  s  Progress 

be  a  good  deal  worse  after  the  Union  ;  and  we 
had  to  come  home,  anyway,  and  start  our  own 
poets.  Emerson,  Whittier,  Longfellow,  Holmes, 
and  Lowell  had  to  be  born.' 

"  '  I  suppose  they  had  to  be  if  you  had  set  your 
mind  on  it,'  he  said,  *  though  personally  I  could 
have  spared  one  or  two  on  that  roll  of  honor.' 

11  y  Very  probably,'  I  remarked,  as  thoroughly 
angry  now  as  he  intended  I  should  be.  '  We 
cannot  expect  you  to  appreciate  all  the  American 
poets  j  indeed,  you  cannot  appreciate  all  of  your 
own,  for  the  same  nation  does  n't  always  furnish 
the  writers  and  the  readers.  Take  your  precious 
Browning,  for  example  !  There  are  hundreds  of 
Browning  Clubs  in  America,  and  I  never  heard 
of  a  single  one  in  Scotland.' 

"  ■  No,'  he  retorted,  '  I  dare  say  ;  but  there  is  a 
good  deal  in  belonging  to  a  people  who  can  under- 
stand him  without  clubs  ! '  " 

"Oh,  Francesca!"  I  exclaimed,  sitting  bolt 
upright  among  my  pillows.  "  How  could  you 
give  him  that  chance  !  How  could  you  !  What 
did  you  say  ?  " 

"  I  said  nothing,"  she  replied  mysteriously. 
"  I  did  something  much  more  to  the  point,  —  I 
cried  !  " 

"Cried?" 

"  Yes,  cried  ;  not  rivers  and  freshets  of  woe, 
but  small  brooks  and  streamlets  of  helpless  mor- 
tification." 


Penelope  s  Progress  223 

"  What  did  he  do  then  ?  " 

"Why  do  you  say  'do'?" 

"Oh,  I  mean  'say,'  of  course.  Don't  trifle; 
go  on.     What  did  he  say  then  ?  " 

"  There  are  some  things  too  dreadful  to  de- 
scribe," she  answered,  and  wrapping  her  Italian 
blanket  majestically  about  her  she  retired  to  her 
own  apartment,  shooting  one  enigmatical  glance 
at  me  as  she  closed  the  door. 

That  glance  puzzled  me  for  some  time  after 
she  left  the  room.  It  was  as  expressive  and  in- 
teresting a  beam  as  ever  darted  from  a  woman's 
eye.  The  combination  of  elements  involved  in  it, 
if  an  abstract  thing  may  be  conceived  as  existing 
in  component  parts,  was  something  like  this  :  — 

One  half,  mystery. 

One  eighth,  triumph. 

One  eighth,  amusement. 

One  sixteenth,  pride. 

One  sixteenth,  shame. 

One  sixteenth,  desire  to  confess. 

One  sixteenth,  determination  to  conceal. 

And  all  these  delicate,  complex  emotions 
played  together  in  a  circle  of  arching  eyebrow, 
curving  lip,  and  tremulous  chin,  —  played  to- 
gether, mingling  and  melting  into  one  another 
like  fire  and  snow ;  bewildering,  mystifying,  en- 
chanting the  beholder ! 

If  Ronald  Macdonald  did  —  I  am  a  woman, 
but,  for  one,  I  can  hardly  blame  him ! 


XXII 

" '  O  has  he  chosen  a  bonny  bride, 
An'  has  he  clean  forgotten  me  ? ' 
An'  sighing  said  that  gay  ladye, 
♦      '  1  would  I  were  in  my  ain  countrie  ! ' " 

Lord  Beichan. 

It  rained  in  torrents  ;  Salemina  was  darning 
stockings  in  the  inglenook  at  Bide-a-Wee  Cottage, 
and  I  was  reading  her  a  Scotch  letter  which  Fran- 
cesca  and  I  had  concocted  the  evening  before. 
I  proposed  sending  the  document  to  certain 
chosen  spirits  in  our  own  country,  who  were 
pleased  to  be  facetious  concerning  our  devotion  to 
Scotland.  It  contained,  in  sooth,  little  that  was 
new,  and  still  less  that  was  true,  for  we  were  con- 
fined to  a  very  small  vocabulary  which  we  were 
obliged  to  supplement  now  and  then  by  a  dip 
into  Burns  and  Allan  Ramsay. 

Here  is  the  letter  :  — 

Bide-a-Wee  Cottage, 

Pettybaw. 

East  Neuk  o'  Fife. 

To  my  trusty  Fieres,  —  Mony  's  the  time  I 
hae  ettled  to  send  ye  a  screed,  but  there  was  aye 
something  that  cam'  i'  the  gait.  It  wisna  that  I 
couldna  be  fashed,  for  aften  hae  I  thocht  o'  ye 


Penelope  s  Progress  225 

and  my  hairt  has  been  wi'  ye  mony  's  the  day. 
There  's  no  muckle  fovvk  frae  Ameriky  hereawa ; 
they  're  a'  jist  Fife  bodies,  and  a  lass  canna  get 
her  tongue  roun'  their  thrapple-taxin'  words  ava, 
so  it 's  like  I  may  een  drap  a'  the  sweetness  o' 
my  good  mither-tongue. 

'T  is  a  dulefu'  nicht,  and  an  awful  blash  is  ragin' 
wi'oot.  Fanny  's  awa'  at  the  gowff  rinnin'  aboot 
wi'  a  bag  o'  sticks  after  a  wee  bit  ba',  and  Sally 
and  I  are  hame  by  oor  lane.  Laith  will  the  las- 
sie be  to  weet  her  bonny  shoon,  but  lang  ere  the 
play  '11  be  o'er,  she  '11  wat  her  hat  aboon.  A  gust 
o'  win'  is  skirlin'  the  noo,  and  as  we  luik  ower 
the  faem,  the  haar  is  risin',  weetin'  the  green 
swaird  wi'  misty  shoo'rs. 

Yestreen  was  a  calm  simmer  gloamin',  sae 
sweet  an'  bonnie  that  while  the  sun  was  sinkin' 
doon  ower  Pettybaw  Sands,  we  daundered  ower 
the  muir.  As  we  cam'  through  the  scented  birks, 
we  saw  a  trottin'  burnie  wimplin'  'neath  the  white- 
blossomed  slaes  and  hirplin'  doon  the  hillside; 
an'  while  a  herd-laddie  lilted  ower  the  fernie 
brae,  a  cushat  crooed  leesomely  doon  i'  the  dale. 
We  pit  aff  oor  shoon,  sae  blithe  were  we,  kilted 
oor  coats  a  little  aboon  the  knee  and  paidilt  i'  the 
burn,  gettin'  gey  an'  weet  the  while.  Then  Sally 
pu'd  the  gowans  wat  wi'  dew  an'  twined  her  bree 
wi'  tasseled  broom,  while  I  had  a  wee  crackie 
wi'  Tibby  Buchan,  the  flesher's  dochter  frae  Auld 
Reekie.     Tibby  's  nae  giglet  gawky  like  the  lave, 


226  Penelope  s  Progress 

ye  ken,  —  she  's  a  sonsie  maid,  as  sweet  as  ony 
hinny  pear,  wi'  her  twa  pawky  een  an'  her  cock- 
ernony  snooded  up  fu'  sleek. 

We  were  unco  gleg  to  win  hame  when  a'  this 
was  dune,  an'  after  steekin'  the  door,  to  sit  an' 
taist  oor  taes  at  the  bit  blaze.  Mickle  thocht 
we  o'  the  gentles  ayont  the  sea  an'  sair  grat  we 
for  a'  frien's  we  knew  lang  syne  in  oor  ain  coun- 
tree. 

Late  at  nicht,  Fanny,  the  bonny  gypsy,  cam' 
ben  the  hoose  an'  tirled  at  the  pin  of  oor  bigly 
bower  door,  speirin'  for  baps  and  bannocks. 

"Hoots,  lassie!"  cried  oot  Sally,  "  th'  auld 
carline  i'  the  kitchen  is  i'  her  box-bed  an'  weel 
aneuch  ye  ken  is  lang  syne  cuddled  doon." 

"  Oo,  ay  !  "  said  Fanny,  straikin'  her  curly  pow, 
"  then  fetch  me  parritch  an'  dinna  be  lang  wi' 
'em,  for  I  've  lickit  a  Pettybaw  lass  at  the  gowff, 
an'  I  could  eat  twa  guid  jints  o'  beef  gin  I  had 
'em ! " 

"  Losh,  girl,"  said  I,  "  gie  ower  makin'  sic  a 
mickle  din.  Ye  ken  verra  weel  ye  '11  get  nae 
parritch  the  nicht.  I  '11  rin  an'  fetch  ye  a  '  piece  ' 
to  stap  awee  the  soun'." 

"  Blathers  an'  havers  !  "  cried  Fanny,  but  she 
blinkit  bonnily  the  while,  an'  when  the  tea  was 
weel  maskit,  she  smoored  her  wrath  an'  stappit 
her  mooth  wi'  a  bit  o'  oaten  cake.  We  aye  keep 
that  i'  the  hoose,  for  th'  auld  servant-body  is  gey 
an'  bad  at  the  cookin'  an'  she  's  sae  dour  an' 


Penelope  s  Progress  227 

dowie  that  to  speak  but  till  her  we  daur  hardly 
mint. 

In  sic  divairsions  pass  the  lang  simmer  days  in 
braid  Scotland,  but  I  canna  write  mair  the  nicht, 
for  't  is  the  wee  sma'  hours  ayont  the  twal'. 

Like  th'  auld  wife's  parrot,  "we  dinna  speak 
muckle,  but  we  're  deevils  to  think,"  an'  we  're  aye 
thinkin'  aboot  ye.  An'  noo  I  maun  leave  ye  to 
mak'  what  ye  can  oot  o'  this,  for  I  jalouse  it  '11 
pass  ye  to  untaukle  the  whole  hypothec. 

Fair  fa'  ye  a' !  Lang  may  yer  lum  reek,  an'  may 
prosperity  attend  oor  clan  ! 

Aye  your  gude  frien', 

Penelope  Hamilton. 

"  It  may  be  very  fine,"  remarked  Salemina 
judicially,  "though  I  cannot  understand  more 
than  half  of  it." 

"  That  would  also  be  true  of  Browning,"  I  re- 
plied. "  Don't  you  love  to  see  great  ideas  loom 
through  a  mist  of  words  ?  " 

"  The  words  are  misty  enough  in  this  case," 
she  said,  "  and  I  do  wish  you  would  not  tell  the 
world  that  I  paddle  in  the  burn,  or  ■  twine  my 
bree  wi'  tasseled  broom.'  I  'm  too  old  to  be 
made  ridiculous." 

"Nobody  will  believe  it,"  said  Francesca  ap- 
pearing in  the  doorway.  "  They  will  know  it  is 
only  Penelope's  havering,"  and  with  this  unde- 
served scoff,  she  took  her  mashie  and  went  golf- 


228  Penelope  s  Progress 

ing;  not  on  the  links,  on  this  occasion,  but  in 
our  microscopic  sitting-room.  It  is  twelve  feet 
square,  and  holds  a  tiny  piano,  desk,  centre-table, 
sofa,  and  chairs,  but  the  spot  between  the  fire- 
place and  the  table  is  Francesca's  favorite  "  put- 
ting green."  She  wishes  to  become  more  deadly 
in  the  matter  of  approaches,  and  thinks  her  tee 
shots  weak ;  so  these  two  deficiencies  she  is  try- 
ing to  make  good  by  home  practice  in  inclement 
weather.  She  turns  a  tumbler  on  its  side  on  the 
floor,  and  "  puts  "  the  ball  into  it,  or  at  it,  as  the 
case  may  be,  from  the  opposite  side  of  the  room. 
It  is  excellent  discipline,  and  as  the  tumblers  are 
inexpensive  the  breakage  really  does  not  matter. 
Whenever  Miss  Grieve  hears  the  shivering  of 
glass,  she  murmurs,  not  without  reason,  "  It  is  not 
for  the  knowing  what  they  will  be  doing  next." 

"Penelope,  has  it  ever  occurred  to  you  that 
Elizabeth  Ardmore  is  seriously  interested  in  Mr. 
Macdonald  ?  " 

Salemina  propounded  this  question  to  me  with 
the  same  innocence  that  a  babe  would  display  in 
placing  a  match  beside  a  dynamite  bomb. 

Francesca  naturally  heard  the  remark,  —  al- 
though it  was  addressed  to  me,  —  pricked  up  her 
ears,  and  missed  the  tumbler  by  several  feet. 

It  was  a  simple  inquiry,  but  as  I  look  back 
upon  it  from  the  safe  ground  of  subsequent  know- 
ledge I  perceive  that  it  had  a  certain  amount  of 
influence  upon  Francesca's  history.     The  sugges- 


Penelope  s  Progress  229 

tion  would  have  carried  no  weight  with  me  for 
two  reasons.  In  the  first  place,  Salemrna  is  far- 
sighted.  If  objects  are  located  at  some  distance 
from  her,  she  sees  them  clearly;  but  if  they  are 
under  her  very  nose  she  overlooks  them  alto- 
gether, unless  they  are  sufficiently  fragrant  or 
audible  to  address  other  senses.  This  physical 
peculiarity  she  carries  over  into  her  mental  pro- 
cesses. Her  impression  of  the  Disruption  move- 
ment, for  example,  would  be  lively  and  distinct, 
but  her  perception  of  a  contemporary  lovers' 
quarrel  (particularly  if  it  were  fought  at  her  own 
apron-strings)  would  be  singularly  vague.  If 
she  suggested,  therefore,  that  Elizabeth  Ardmore 
was  interested  in  Mr.  Beresford,  who  is  the  right- 
ful captive  of  my  bow  and  spear,  I  should  be 
perfectly  calm. 

My  second  reason  for  comfortable  indifference 
is  that,  frequently  in  novels,  and  always  in  plays, 
the  heroine  is  instigated  to  violent  jealousy  by 
insinuations  of  this  sort,  usually  conveyed  by  the 
villain  of  the  piece,  male  or  female.  I  have  seen 
this  happen  so  often  in  the  modern  drama  that 
it  has  long  since  ceased  to  be  convincing;  but 
though  Francesca  has  witnessed  scores  of  plays 
and  read  hundreds  of  novels,  it  did  not  ap- 
parently strike  her  as  a  theatrical  or  literary  sug- 
gestion that  Lady  Ardmore's  daughter  should  be 
in  love  with  Mr.  Macdonald.  The  effect  of  the 
new  point   of   view   was   most  salutary,   on  the 


230  Penelope  s  Progress 

whole.  She  had  come  to  think  herself  the  only 
prominent  figure  in  the  Reverend  Ronald's  land- 
scape, and  anything  more  impertinent  than  her 
tone  with  him  (unless  it  is  his  with  her)  I  certainly 
never  heard.  This  criticism,  however,  relates 
only  to  their  public  performances,  and  I  have 
long  suspected  that  their  private  conversations 
are  of  a  kindlier  character.  When  it  occurred  to 
her  that  he  might  simply  be  sharpening  his  men- 
tal sword  on  her  steel,  but  that  his  heart  had  at 
last  wandered  into  a  more  genial  climate  than 
she  had  ever  provided  for  it,  she  softened  uncon- 
sciously ;  the  Scotsman  and  the  American  re- 
ceded into  a  truer  perspective,  and  the  man  and 
the  woman  approached  each  other  with  dangerous 
nearness. 

"  What  shall  we  do  if  Francesca  and  Mr.  Mac- 
donald  really  fall  in  love  with  each  other  ?  "  asked 
Salemina,  when  Francesca  had  gone  into  the 
hall  to  try  long  drives.  (There  is  a  good  deal  of 
excitement  in  this,  as  Miss  Grieve  has  to  cross 
the  passage  on  her  way  from  the  kitchen  to  the 
china-closet,  and  thus  often  serves  as  a  reluctant 
"hazard"  or  "bunker.") 

"  Do  you  mean  what  should  we  have  done  ?  " 
I  queried. 

"  Nonsense,  don't  be  captious  !  It  can't  be 
too  late  yet.  They  have  known  each  other  only 
a  little  over  two  months ;  when  would  you  have 
had  me  interfere,  pray  ? " 


Penelopes  Progress  231 

"  It  depends  upon  what  you  expect  to  accom- 
plish. If  you  wish  to  stop  the  marriage,  inter- 
fere in  a  fortnight  or  so ;  if  you  wish  to  prevent 
an  engagement,  speak  —  well,  say  to-morrow  ;  if, 
however,  you  did  n't  wish  them  to  fall  in  love 
with  each  other,  you  should  have  kept  one  of 
them  away  from  Lady  Baird's  dinner." 

"  I  could  have  waited  a  trifle  longer  than  that," 
argued  Salemina,  "  for  you  remember  how  badly 
they  got  on  at  first." 

"I  remember  you  thought  so,"  I  responded 
dryly ;  "  but  I  believe  Mr.  Macdonald  has  been 
interested  in  Francesca  from  the  outset,  partly 
because  her  beauty  and  vivacity  attracted  him, 
partly  because  he  could  keep  her  in  order  only 
by  putting  his  whole  mind  upon  her.  On  his 
side,  he  has  succeeded  in  piquing  her  into  think- 
ing of  him  continually,  though  solely,  as  she 
fancies,  for  the  purpose  of  crossing  swords  with 
him.  If  they  ever  drop  their  weapons  for  an  in- 
stant, and  allow  the  din  of  warfare  to  subside  so 
that  they  can  listen  to  their  own  heart-beats,  they 
will  discover  that  they  love  each  other  to  distrac- 
tion." 

"  Ye  ken  mair  than  's  in  the  catecheesm,"  re- 
marked Salemina,  yawning  a  little  as  she  put 
away  her  darning-ball.  "  It  is  pathetic  to  see  you 
waste  your  time  painting  mediocre  pictures,  when 
as  a  lecturer  upon  love  you  could  instruct  your 
thousands." 


232  Penelope  s  Progress 

"  The  thousands  would  never  satisfy  me,"  I  re- 
torted, "  so  long  as  you  remained  uninstructed, 
for  in  your  single  person  you  would  so  swell  the 
sum  of  human  ignorance  on  that  subject  that  my 
teaching  would  be  forever  vain." 

"  Very  clever  indeed  !  Well,  what  will  Mr. 
Monroe  say  to  me  when  I  land  in  New  York 
without  his  daughter,  or  with  his  son-in-law  ? " 

"  He  has  never  denied  Francesca  anything  in 
her  life  j  why  should  he  draw  the  line  at  a  Scots- 
man? I  am  much  more  concerned  about  Mr. 
Macdonald's  congregation." 

"I  am  not  anxious  about  that,"  said  Salemina 
loyally.  "  Francesca  would  be  the  life  of  an 
Inchcaldy  parish." 

"  I  dare  say,"  I  observed,  "  but  she  might  be 
the  death  of  the  pastor." 

"  I  am  ashamed  of  you,  Penelope  j  or  I  should 
be  if  you  meant  what  you  say.  She  can  make 
the  people  love  her  if  she  tries ;  when  did  she 
ever  fail  at  that?  But  with  Mr.  Macdonald's 
talent,  to  say  nothing  of  his  family  connections, 
he  is  sure  to  get  a  church  in  Edinburgh  in  a  few 
years,  if  he  wishes.  Undoubtedly,  it  would  not 
be  a  great  match  in  a  money  sense.  I  suppose 
he  has  a  manse  and  three  or  four  hundred  pounds 
a  year." 

"  That  sum  would  do  nicely  for  cabs." 

"  Penelope,  you  are  flippant !  " 

"  I  don't  mean  it,  dear ;  it 's  only  for  fun  ;  and 


Penelope  s  Progress  233 

it  would  be  so  absurd  if  we  should  leave  Fran- 
cesca  over  here  as  the  presiding  genius  of  an 
Inchcaldy  parsonage,  —  I  mean  a  manse  !  " 

"  It  is  n't  as  if  she  were  penniless,''  continued 
Salemina ;  "  she  has  fortune  enough  to  assure  her 
own  independence,  and  not  enough  to  threaten 
his,  —  the  ideal  amount.  I  hardly  think  the  good 
Lord's  first  intention  was  to  make  her  a  minister's 
wife,  but  he  knows  very  well  that  Love  is  a  mas- 
ter architect.  Francesca  is  full  of  beautiful  pos- 
sibilities if  Mr.  Macdonald  is  the  man  to  bring 
them  out,  and  I  am  inclined  to  think  he  is." 

"  He  has  brought  out  impishness  so  far,"  I 
objected. 

"  The  impishness  is  transitory,"  she  returned, 
"  and  I  am  speaking  of  permanent  qualities.  His 
is  the  stronger  and  more  serious  nature,  Fran- 
cesca's  the  sweeter  and  more  flexible.  He  will 
be  the  oak-tree,  and  she  will  be  the  sunshine  play- 
ing in  the  branches." 

"  Salemina,  dear,"  I  said  penitently,  kissing 
her  gray  hair,  "  I  apologize  :  you  are  not  abso- 
lutely ignorant  about  Love,  after  all,  when  you 
call  him  the  master  architect ;  and  that  is  very 
lovely  and  very  true  about  the  oak-tree  and  the 
sunshine." 


XXIII 

"  '  Love,  I  maun  gang  to  Edinbrugh, 
Love,  I  maun  gang  an'  leave  thee ! ' 
She  sighed  right  sair,  an'  said  nae  mair 
But '  O  gin  I  were  wi'  ye ! '" 

Andrew  Lammie. 

Jean  Dalziel  came  to  visit  us  a  week  ago,  and 
has  put  new  life  into  our  little  circle.  I  suppose  it 
was  playing  "  Sir  Patrick  Spens  "  that  set  us  think- 
ing about  it,  for  one  warm,  idle  day  when  we  were 
all  in  the  Glen  we  began  a  series  of  ballad-revels, 
in  which  each  of  us  assumed  a  favorite  character. 
The  choice  induced  so  much  argument  and  dis- 
agreement that  Mr.  Beresford  was  at  last  ap- 
pointed head  of  the  clan  ;  and  having  announced 
himself  formally  as  the  Mackintosh,  he  was 
placed  on  the  summit  of  a  hastily  arranged 
pyramidal  cairn.  He  was  given  an  ash  wand 
and  a  rowan-tree  sword  ;  and  then,  according  to 
ancient  custom,  his  pedigree  and  the  exploits  of 
his  ancestors  were  recounted,  and  he  was  exhorted 
to  emulate  their  example.  Now  it  seems  that  a 
Highland  chief  of  the  olden  time,  being  as  abso- 
lute in  his  patriarchal  authority  as  any  prince, 
had  a  corresponding  number  of  officers  attached 
to  his  person.     He  had  a  bodyguard,  who  fought 


Penelope  s  Progress  235 

around  him  in  battle,  and  independent  of  this 
he  had  a  staff  of  officers  who  accompanied  him 
wherever  he  went.  These  our  chief  proceeded 
to  appoint  as  follows  :  — 

Henchman,  Ronald  Macdonald  \  bard,  Penel- 
ope Hamilton  ;  spokesman  or  fool,  Robin  Anstru- 
ther;  sword-bearer,  Francesca  Monroe;  piper, 
Salemina  ;  piper's  attendant,  Elizabeth  Ardmore  ; 
baggage  gillie,  Jean  Dalziel  j  running  footman, 
Ralph ;  bridle  gillie,  Jamie ;  ford  gillie,  Miss 
Grieve.  The  ford  gillie  carries  the  chief  across 
fords  only,  and  there  are  no  fords  in  the  vicin- 
ity ;  so  Mr.  Beresford,  not  liking  to  leave  a  mem- 
ber of  our  household  out  of  office,  thought  this 
the  best  post  for  Calamity  Jane. 

With  the  Mackintosh  on  his  pyramidal  cairn 
matters  went  very  much  better,  and  at  Jamie's 
instigation  we  began  to  hold  rehearsals  for  cer- 
tain festivities  at  Rowardennan ;  for  as  Jamie's 
birthday  fell  on  the  eve  of  the  Queen's  Jubilee, 
there  was  to  be  a  gay  party  at  the  castle. 

All  this  occurred  days  ago,  and  yesterday  even- 
ing the  ballad-revels  came  off,  and  Rowarden- 
nan was  a  scene  of  great  pageant  and  splendor. 
Lady  Ardmore,  dressed  as  the  Lady  of  Inverleith, 
received  the  guests,  and  there  were  all  manner 
of  tableaux,  and  ballads  in  costume,  and  panto- 
mimes, and  a  grand  march  by  the  clan,  in  which 
we  appeared  in  our  chosen  roles. 

Salemina  was  Lady  Maisry,  —  she  whom  all 
the  lords  of  the  north  countrie  came  wooing. 


236  Penelope  s  Progress 

"  But  a'  that  they  could  say  to  her, 
Her  answer  still  was  '  Na.'  " 

And  again :  — 

"'  O  haud  your  tongues,  young  men,'  she  said, 
•  And  think  nae  mair  on  me  ! '  " 

Mr.  Beresford  was  Lord  Beichan,  and  I  was 
Shusy  Pye. 

"  Lord  Beichan  was  a  Christian  born, 
And  such  resolved  to  live  and  dee, 
So  he  was  ta'en  by  a  savage  Moor, 
Who  treated  him  right  cruellie. 

"  The  Moor  he  had  an  only  daughter, 
The  damsel's  name  was  Shusy  Pye ; 
And  ilka  day  as  she  took  the  air 
Lord  Beichan's  prison  she  pass'd  by." 

Elizabeth  Ardmore  was  Leezie  Lindsay,  who 
kilted  her  coats  o'  green  satin  to  the  knee  and 
was  aff  to  the  Hielands  so  expeditiously  when  her 
lover  declared  himself  to  be  "  Lord  Ronald  Mac- 
donald,  a  chieftain  of  high  degree." 

Francesca  was  Mary  Ambree. 

"  When  captaines  couragious,  whom  death  cold  not  daunte, 
Did  march  to  the  siege  of  the  citty  of  Gaunt, 
They  mu&tred  their  souldiers  by  two  and  by  three, 
And  the  foremost  in  battle  was  Mary  Ambree. 

"  When  the  brave  sergeant-major  was  slaine  in  her  sight 
Who  was  her  true  lover,  her  joy  and  delight, 
Because  he  was  slaine  most  treacherouslie, 
Then  vow'd  to  avenge  him  Mary  Ambree." 

Brenda   Macrae    from    Pettybaw  House   was 


Penelope  s  Progress  237 

Fairly  Fair;  Jamie,  Sir  Patrick  Spens;  Ralph, 
King  Alexander  of  Dunfermline  ;  Mr.  Anstruther, 
Bonnie  Glenlogie,  "the  flower  of  them  a';"  Mr. 
Macdonald  and  Miss  Dalziel,  Young  Hynde  Horn 
and  the  king's  daughter  Jean  respectively. 

" '  Oh,  it 's  Hynde  Horn  fair,  and  it 's  Hynde  Horn  free  ; 
Oh,  where  were  you  born,  and  in  what  countrie? ' 
'  In  a  far  distant  countrie  I  was  born ; 
But  of  home  and  friends  I  am  quite  forlorn.' 

"  Oh,  it 's  seven  long  years  he  served  the  king, 
But  wages  from  him  he  ne'er  got  a  thing ; 
Oh,  it  ?s  seven  long  years  he  served,  I  ween, 
And  all  for  love  of  the  king's  daughter  Jean." 

It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  all  this  went  off 
without  any  of  the  difficulties  and  heart-burnings 
that  are  incident  to  things  dramatic.  When  Eliza- 
beth Ardmore  chose  to  be  Leezie  Lindsay,  she 
asked  me  to  sing  the  ballad  behind  the  scenes. 
Mr.  Beresford  naturally  thought  that  Mr.  Mac- 
donald would  take  the  opposite  part  in  the  ta- 
bleau, inasmuch  as  the  hero  bears  his  name ;  but 
he  positively  declined  to  play  Lord  Ronald  Mac- 
donald, and  said  it  was  altogether  too  personal. 

Mr.  Anstruther  was  rather  disagreeable  at  the 
beginning,  and  upbraided  Miss  Dalziel  for  offer- 
ing to  be  the  king's  daughter  Jean  to  Mr.  Mac- 
donald's  Hynde  Horn,  when  she  knew  very  well 
he  wanted  her  for  Ladye  Jeanie  in  Glenlogie. 
(She  had  meantime  confided  to  me  that  nothing 
could  induce  her  to  appear  in  Glenlogie ;  it  was 
far  too  personal.) 


238  Penelope  s  Progress 

Mr.  Macdonald  offended  Francesca  by  sending 
her  his  cast-off  gown  and  begging  her  to  be  Sir 
Patrick  Spens ;  and  she  was  still  more  gloomy 
(so  I  imagined)  because  he  had  not  proffered  his 
six  feet  of  manly  beauty  for  the  part  of  the  cap- 
tain in  Mary  Ambree,  when  the  only  other  person 
to  take  it  was  Jamie's  tutor.  He  is  an  Oxford 
man  and  a  delightful  person,  but  very  bow-legged ; 
added  to  that,  by  the  time  the  rehearsals  had 
ended  she  had  been  obliged  to  beg  him  to  love 
some  one  more  worthy  than  herself,  and  did  not 
wish  to  appear  in  the  same  tableau  with  him, 
feeling  that  it  was  much  too  personal. 

When  the  eventful  hour  came,  yesterday,  Willie 
and  I  were  the  only  actors  really  willing  to  take 
lovers'  parts,  save  Jamie  and  Ralph,  who  were 
but  too  anxious  to  play  all  the  characters,  what- 
ever their  age,  sex,  color,  or  relations.  But 
the  guests  knew  nothing  of  these  trivial  disagree- 
ments, and  at  ten  o'clock  last  night  it  would  have 
been  difficult  to  match  Rowardennan  Castle  for 
a  scene  of  beauty  and  revelry.  Everything  went 
merrily  till  we  came  to  Hynde  Horn,  the  con- 
cluding tableau,  and  the  most  effective  and  elabo- 
rate one  on  the  programme.  At  the  very  last 
moment,  when  the  opening  scene  was  nearly 
ready,  Jean  Dalziel  fell  down  a  secret  staircase 
that  led  from  the  tapestry  chamber  into  Lady 
Ardmore's  boudoir,  where  the  rest  of  us  were 
dressing.     It  was  a  short  flight  of  steps,  but,  as 


Penelope  s  Progress  239 

she  held  a  candle  and  was  carrying  her  costume, 
she  fell  awkwardly,  spraining  her  wrist  and  ankle. 
Finding  that  she  was  not  maimed  for  life,  Lady 
Ardmore  turned  with  comical  and  unsympathetic 
haste  to  Francesca,  so  completely  do  amateur 
theatricals  dry  the  milk  of  kindness  in  the  human 
breast. 

"  Put  on  these  clothes  at  once,"  she  said  im- 
periously, knowing  nothing  of  the  volcanoes  be- 
neath the  surface.  "  Hynde  Horn  is  already  on 
the  stage,  and  somebody  must  be  Jean.  Take 
care  of  Miss  Dalziel,  girls,  and  ring  for  more 
maids.  Helene,  help  me  dress  Miss  Monroe  : 
put  on  her  slippers  while  I  lace  her  gown ;  run 
and  fetch  more  jewels, — more  still,  —  she  can 
carry  off  any  number ;  not  any  rouge,  Helene,  — 
she  has  too  much  color  now ;  pull  the  frock  more 
off  the  shoulders,  —  it 's  a  pity  to  cover  an  inch 
of  them ;  pile  her  hair  higher,  —  here,  take  my 
diamond  tiara,  child;  hurry,  Helene,  fetch  the 
silver  cup  and  the  cake  —  no,  they  are  on  the 
stage ;  take  her  train,  Helene.  Miss  Hamilton, 
run  and  open  the  doors  ahead  of  them,  please. 
I  won't  go  down  for  this  tableau-  I  '11  put  Miss 
Dalziel  right,  and  then  I  '11  slip  into  the  draw- 
ing-room, to  be  ready  for  the  guests  when  they 
come  in." 

We  hurried  breathlessly  through  an  intermina- 
ble series  of  rooms  and  corridors.  I  gave  the 
signal  to  Mr.  Beresford,  who  was  nervously  wait- 


240  Penelope  s  Progress 

ing  for  it  in  the  wings,  and  the  curtain  went  up 
on  Hynde  Horn  disguised  as  the  auld  beggar 
man  at  the  king's  gate.  Mr.  Beresford  was  read- 
ing the  ballad,  and  we  took  up  the  tableaux  at 
the  point  where  Hynde  Horn  has  come  from  a 
far  countrie  to  see  why  the  diamonds  in  the  ring 
given  him  by  his  own  true  love  have  grown  pale 
and  wan.  He  hears  that  the  king's  daughter 
Jean  has  been  married  to  a  knight  these  nine 
days  past. 

"  But  unto  him  a  wife  the  bride  winna  be, 
For  love  of  Hynde  Horn,  far  over  the  sea." 

He  therefore  borrows  the  old  beggar's  garments 
and  hobbles  to  the  king's  palace,  where  he  peti- 
tions the  porter  for  a  cup  of  wine  and  a  bit  of 
cake  to  be  handed  him  by  the  fair  bride  herself. 

"  *  Good  porter,  I  pray,  for  Saints  Peter  and  Paul, 
And  for  sake  of  the  Saviour  who  died  for  us  all, 
For  one  cup  of  wine,  and  one  bit  of  bread, 
To  an  auld  man  with  travel  and  hunger  bestead. 

"  ■  And  ask  the  fair  bride,  for  the  sake  of  Hynde  Horn, 
To  hand  them  to  me  so  sadly  forlorn.' 
Then  the  porter  for  pity  the  message  convey'd, 
And  told  the  fair  bride  all  the  beggar  man  said." 

The  curtain  went  up  again.  The  porter,  moved 
to  pity,  has  gone  to  give  the  message  to  his  lady. 
Hynde  Horn  is  watching  the  staircase  at  the  rear 
of  the  stage,  his  heart  in  his  eyes.  The  tapestries 
that  hide  it  are  drawn,  and  there  stands  the 
king's  daughter,  who  tripped  down  the  stair, 


Penelope  s  Progress  241 

"  And  in  her  fair  hands  did  lovingly  bear 
A  cup  of  red  wine,  and  a  farle  of  cake, 
To  give  the  old  man  for  loved  Hynde  Horn's  sake." 

The  hero  of  the  ballad,  who  had  not  seen  his 
true  love  for  seven  long  years,  could  not  have 
been  more  amazed  at  the  change  in  her  than  was 
Ronald  Macdonald  at  the  sight  of  the  flushed, 
excited,  almost  tearful  king's  daughter  on  the 
staircase;  Lady  Ardmore's  diamonds  flashing 
from  her  crimson  satin  gown,  Lady  Ardmore's 
rubies  glowing  on  her  white  arms  and  throat ;  not 
Miss  Dalziel,  as  had  been  arranged,  but  Fran- 
cesca,  rebellious,  reluctant,  embarrassed,  angrily 
beautiful  and  beautifully  angry  ! 

In  the  next  scene  Hynde  Horn  has  drained 
the  cup  and  dropped  the  ring  into  it. 

"  '  Oh,  found  you  that  ring  by  sea  or  on  land, 
Or  got  you  that  ring  off  a  dead  man's  hand  ? ' 
•  Oh,  I  found  not  that  ring  by  sea  or  on  land, 
But  I  got  that  ring  from  a  fair  lady's  hand. 

" '  As  a  pledge  of  true  love  she  gave  it  to  me, 
Full  seven  years  ago  as  I  saild  o'er  the  sea ; 
But  now  that  the  diamonds  are  chang'd  in  their  hue, 
I  know  that  my  love  has  to  me  proved  untrue.'  " 

I  never  saw  a  prettier  picture  of  sweet,  tremu- 
lous womanhood,  a  more  enchanting  breathing 
image  of  fidelity,  than  Francesca  looked  as  Mr. 
Beresford  read  :  — 

"  •  Oh,  I  will  cast  off  my  gay  costly  gown, 
And  follow  thee  on  from  town  unto  town, 
And  I  will  take  the  gold  kaims  from  my  hair 
And  follow  my  true  love  for  ever  mair.' " 


242  Penelope  s  Progress 

Whereupon  Hynde  Horn  lets  his  beggar  weeds 
fall,  and  shines  there  the  foremost  and  noblest  of 
all  the  king's  companie  as  he  says  :  — 

"  '  You  need  not  cast  off  your  gay  costly  gown, 
To  follow  me  on  from  town  unto  town  ; 
You  need  not  take  the  gold  kaims  from  your  hair, 
For  Hynde  Horn  has  gold  enough  and  to  spare.' 

"  Then  the  bridegrooms  were  chang'd,  and  the  lady  re-wed 
To  Hynde  Horn  thus  come  back,  like  one  from  the  dead." 

There  is  no  doubt  that  this  tableau  gained  the 
success  of  the  evening,  and  the  participants  in  it 
should  have  modestly  and  gratefully  received  the 
choruses  of  congratulation  that  were  ready  to  be 
offered  during  the  supper  and  dance  that  fol- 
lowed. Instead  of  that,  what  happened  ?  Fran- 
cesca  drove  home  with  Miss  Dalziel  before  the 
quadrille  d'honneur,  and  when  Willie  bade  me 
good-night  at  the  gate  in  the  loaning  he  said, 
"  I  shall  not  be  early  to-morrow,  dear.  I  am 
going  to  see  Macdonald  off." 

"  Off  !  "  I  exclaimed.     "  Where  is  he  going?  " 

"  Only  to  Edinburgh  and  London,  to  stay  till 
the  last  of  next  week." 

"But  we  may  have  left  Pettybaw  by  that 
time." 

"  Of  course ;  that  is  probably  what  he  has  in 
mind.  But  let  me  tell  you  this,  Penelope  :  Mac- 
donald is  fathoms  deep  in  love  with  Francesca, 
and  if  she  trifles  with  him  she  shall  know  what  I 
think  of  her !  " 


Penelope  s  Progress  243 

"And  let  me  tell  you  this,  sir:  Francesca  is 
fathoms  deep  in  love  with  Ronald  Macdonald, 
little  as  you  suspect  it,  and  if  he  trifles  with  her 
he  shall  know  what  I  think  of  him  !  " 


XXIV 

"  He  set  her  on  a  coal-black  steed, 
Himsel  lap  on  behind  her, 
An'  he's  awa'  to  the  Hieland  hills 

Whare  her  frien's  they  canna  find  her." 

Rob  Roy. 

The  occupants  of  Bide-a-Wee  Cottage  awoke 
in  anything  but  a  Jubilee  humor,  next  day. 
Willie  had  intended  to  come  at  nine,  but  of 
course  did  not  appear.  Francesca  took  her 
breakfast  in  bed,  and  came  listlessly  into  the  sit- 
ting-room at  ten  o'clock,  looking  like  a  ghost. 
Jean's  ankle  was  much  better,  —  the  sprain 
proved  to  be  not  even  a  strain,  —  but  her  wrist 
was  painful.  It  was  drizzling,  too,  and  we  had 
promised  Miss  Ardmore  and  Miss  Macrae  to  aid 
with  the  last  Jubilee  decorations,  the  distribution 
of  medals  at  the  church,  and  the  children's  games 
and  tea  on  the  links  in  the  afternoon. 

We  had  determined  not  to  desert  our  beloved 
Pettybaw  for  the  metropolis  on  this  great  day, 
but  to  celebrate  it  with  the  dear  fowk  o'  Fife  who 
had  grown  to  be  a  part  of  our  lives. 

Bide-a-Wee  Cottage  does  not  occupy  an  im- 
posing position  in  the  landscape,  and  the  choice 
of  art  fabrics  at  the  Pettybaw  draper's  is  small, 


Penelope  s  Progress  245 

but  the  moment  it  should  stop  raining  we  were 
intending  to  carry  out  a  dazzling  scheme  of  deco- 
ration that  would  proclaim  our  affectionate  re- 
spect for  the  '*  little  lady  in  black  "  on  her  Dia- 
mond Jubilee.  But  would  it  stop  raining?  — 
that  was  the  question.  The  draper  wasna  certain 
that  so  licht  a  shoo'r  could  richtly  be  called  rain. 
The  village  weans  were  yearning  for  the  hour  to 
arrive  when  they  might  sit  on  the  wet  golf-course 
and  have  tea  ;  manifestly,  therefore,  it  could  not 
be  a  bad  day  for  Scotland ;  but  if  it  should  grow 
worse,  what  would  become  of  our  mammoth  sub- 
scription bonfire  on  Pettybaw  Law,  —  the  bonfire 
that  Brenda  Macrae  was  to  light,  as  the  lady  of 
the  manor  ? 

There  were  no  deputations  to  request  the 
honor  of  Miss  Macrae's  distinguished  services 
on  this  occasion ;  that  is  not  the  way  the  self- 
respecting  villager  comports  himself  in  Fifeshire. 
The  chairman  of  the  local  committee,  a  respect- 
able gardener,  called  upon  Miss  Macrae  at  Petty- 
baw House,  and  said,  "  I  'm  sent  to  tell  ye  ye  're 
to  have  the  pleesure  an'  the  honor  of  lightin'  the 
bonfire  the  nicht !  Ay,  it 's  a  grand  chance  ye  're 
havin',  miss ;  ye  '11  remember  it  as  long  as  ye 
live,  I  'm  thinkin' !  " 

When  I  complimented  this  rugged  soul  on  his 
decoration  of  the  triumphal  arch  under  which  the 
schoolchildren  were  to  pass,  I  said,  "I  think  if 
her  Majesty  could  see  it,  she  would  be  pleased 
with  our  village  to-day,  James." 


2/\6  Penelope  s  Progress 

"  Ay,  ye  're  richt,  miss,"  he  replied  compla- 
cently. "  She  'd  see  that  Inchcawdy  carina  com- 
peer wi'  us  j  we  've  patronized  her  weel  in  Petty- 
baw  !  " 

Truly,  as  Stevenson  says,  "  he  who  goes  fishing 
among  the  Scots  peasantry  with  condescension 
for  a  bait  will  have  an  empty  basket  by  evening." 

At  eleven  o'clock  a  boy  arrived  at  Bide-a- 
Wee  with  an  interesting-looking  package,  which 
I  promptly  opened.  That  dear  foolish  lover  of 
mine  (whose  foolishness  is  one  of  the  most  ador- 
able things  about  him)  makes  me  only  two  visits 
a  day,  and  is  therefore  constrained  to  send  me 
some  reminder  of  himself  in  the  intervening 
hours,  or  minutes,  —  a  book,  a  flower,  or  a  note. 
Uncovering  the  pretty  box,  I  found  a  long,  slen- 
der —  something  —  of  sparkling  silver. 

"  What  is  it  ? "  I  exclaimed,  holding  it  up. 
"  It  is  too  long  and  not  wide  enough  for  a  paper- 
knife,  although  it  would  be  famous  for  cutting 
magazines.  Is  it  a  b&ton  ?  Where  did  Willie 
find  it,  and  what  can  it  be  ?  There  is  something 
engraved  on  one  side,  something  that  looks  like 
birds  on  a  twig,  — yes,  three  little  birds  ;  and  see 
the  lovely  cairngorm  set  in  the  end !  Oh,  it  has 
words  cut  in  it :  i  To  yean  :  From  Hynde  Horn  V 
—  Goodness  me  !  I  've  opened  Miss  Dalziel's 
package !  " 

Francesca  made  a  sudden  swooping  motion, 
and  caught  box,  cover,  and  contents  in  her  arms. 


Penelope  s  Progress  247 

"  It  is  mine  !  I  know  it  is  mine  !  "  she  cried. 
"  You  really  ought  not  to  claim  everything  that 
is  sent. to  the  house,  Penelope,  —  as  if  nobody 
had  any  friends  or  presents  but  you  ! "  and  she 
rushed  upstairs  like  a  whirlwind. 

I  examined  the  outside  wrapper,  lying  on  the 
floor,  and  found,  to  my  chagrin,  that  it  did  bear 
Miss  Monroe's  name,  somewhat  blotted  by  the 
rain ;  but  if  the  box  were  addressed  to  her,  why 
was  the  silver  thing  inscribed  to  Miss  Dalziel  ? 
Well,  Francesca  would  explain  the  mystery  within 
the  hour,  unless  she  had  become  a  changed  being. 

Fifteen  minutes  passed.  Salemina  was  making 
Jubilee  sandwiches  at  Pettybaw  House,  Miss 
Dalziel  was  asleep  in  her  room,  I  was  being  de- 
voured slowly  by  curiosity,  when  Francesca  came 
down  without  a  word,  walked  out  of  the  front 
door,  went  up  to  the  main  street,  and  entered  the 
village  post-office  without  so  much  as  a  backward 
glance.  She  was  a  changed  being,  then !  I 
might  as  well  be  living  in  a  Gaboriau  novel,  I 
thought,  and  went  up  into  my  little  painting  and 
writing  room  to  address  a  programme  of  the 
Pettybaw  celebration  to  Lady  Baird,  watch  for 
the  first  glimpse  of  Willie  coming  down  the  loan- 
ing, and  see  if  I  could  discover  where  Francesca 
went  from  the  post-office. 

Sitting  down  by  my  desk,  I  could  find  neither 
my  wax  nor  my  silver  candlestick,  my  scissors 
nor  my  ball  of  twine.     Plainly,  Francesca  had 


248  Penelope  s  Progress 

been  on  one  of  her  borrowing  tours  ;  and  she 
had  left  an  additional  trace  of  herself  —  if  one 
were  needed  —  in  a  book  of  old  Scottish  ballads, 
open  at  Hynde  Horn.  I  glanced  at  it  idly  while 
I  was  waiting  for  her  to  return.  I  was  not  fa- 
miliar with  the  opening  verses,  and  these  were 
the  first  lines  that  met  my  eye  :  — 

"  Oh,  he  gave  to  his  love  a  silver  wand, 
Her  sceptre  of  rule  over  fair  Scotland ; 
With  three  singing  laverocks  set  thereon 
For  to  mind  her  of  him  when  he  was  gone. 

"  And  his  love  gave  to  him  a  gay  gold  ring 
With  three  shining  diamonds  set  therein  ; 
Oh,  his  love  gave  to  him  this  gay  gold  ring, 
Of  virtue  and  value  above  all  thing." 

A  light  dawned  upon  me  !  The  silver  mystery, 
then,  was  intended  for  a  wand,  —  and  a  very 
pretty  way  of  making  love  to  an  American  girl, 
too,  to  call  it  a  "  sceptre  of  rule  over  fair  Scot- 
land ; "  and  the  three  birds  were  three  singing 
laverocks  "to  mind  her  of  him  when  he  was 
gone ! " 

But  the  real  Hynde  Horn  in  the  dear  old  bal- 
lad had  a  true  love  who  was  not  captious  and 
capricious  and  cold  like  Francesca.  His  love 
gave  him  a  gay  gold  ring,  — 

"  Of  virtue  and  value  above  all  thing." 

Yet  stay :  behind  the  ballad  book  flung  heedlessly 
on  my  desk  was  —  what  should  it  be  but  the  little 


Penelope  s  Progress  249 

morocco  case,  empty  now,  in  which  our  Francesca 
keeps  her  dead  mother's  engagement  ring,  —  the 
mother  who  died  when  she  was  a  wee  child. 
Truly  a  very  pretty  modern  ballad  to  be  sung  in 
these  unromantic,  degenerate  days  ! 

Francesca  came  in  at  the  door  behind  me,  saw 
her  secret  reflected  in  my  telltale  face,  saw  the 
sympathetic  moisture  in  my  eyes,  and,  flinging 
herself  into  my  willing  arms,  burst  into  tears. 

"Oh,  Pen,  dear,  dear  Pen,  I  am  so  miserable 
and  so  happy ;  so  afraid  that  he  won't  come 
back,  so  frightened  for  fear  that  he  will !  I  sent 
him  away  because  there  were  so  many  lions  in 
the  path,  and  I  did  n't  know  how  to  slay  them. 
I  thought  of  my  f-father;  I  thought  of  my 
c-c-country.  I  did  n't  want  to  live  with  him  in 
Scotland,  I  knew  that  I  could  n't  live  without  him 
in  America,  and  there  I  was  !  I  did  n't  think  I 
was  s-suited  to  a  minister,  and  I  am  not ;  but  oh  ! 
this  p-particular  minister  is  so  s-suited  to  me  !  " 
and  she  threw  herself  on  the  sofa  and  buried  her 
head  in  the  cushions. 

She  was  so  absurd  even  in  her  grief  that  I  had 
hard  work  to  keep  from  smiling. 

"  Let  us  talk  about  the  lions,"  I  said  sooth- 
ingly. "  But  when  did  the  trouble  begin  ?  When 
did  he  speak  to  you  ?  " 

"  After  the  tableaux  last  night ;  but  of  course 
there  had  been  other  —  other  —  times  —  and 
things." 


250  Penelope  s  Progress 

"  Of  course.     Well  ?  " 

"  He  had  told  me  a  week  before  that  he  should 
go  away  for  a  while,  that  it  made  him  too  wretched 
to  stay  here  just  now ;  and  I  suppose  that  was 
when  he  got  the  silver  wand  ready  for  me.  It 
was  meant  for  the  Jean  of  the  poem,  you  know. 
Of  course  he  would  not  put  my  own  name  on  a 
gift  like  that." 

"  You  don't  think  he  had  it  made  for  Jean 
Dalziel  in  the  first  place  ?  "  I  asked  this,  think- 
ing she  needed  some  sort  of  tonic  in  her  relaxed 
condition. 

"  You  know  him  better  than  that,  Penelope  !  I 
am  ashamed  of  you  !  We  had  read  Hynde  Horn 
together  ages  before  Jean  Dalziel  came  j  but  I 
imagine,  when  we  came  to  acting  the  lines,  he 
thought  it  would  be  better  to  have  some  other 
king's  daughter ;  that  is,  that  it  would  be  less 
personal.  And  I  never,  never  would  have  been 
in  the  tableau,  if  I  had  dared  refuse  Lady  Ard- 
more,  or  could  have  explained  j  but  I  had  no 
time  to  think.  And  then,  naturally,  he  thought 
by  my  being  there  as  the  king's  daughter  that  — 
that  —  the  lions  were  slain,  you  know  j  instead 
of  which  they  were  roaring  so  that  I  could  hardly 
hear  the  orchestra." 

"Francesca,  look  me  in  the  eye!  Do  —  you 
—  love  him  ?  " 

"  Love  him  ?  I  adore  him  !  "  she  exclaimed  in 
good  clear  decisive  English,  as  she  rose  impetu- 


Penelopes  Progress  251 

ously  and  paced  up  and  down  in  front  of  the 
sofa.  "  But  in  the  first  place  there  is  the  differ- 
ence in  nationality." 

"  I  have  no  patience  with  you.  One  would 
think  he  was  a  Turk,  an  Esquimau,  or  a  cannibal. 
He  is  white,  he  speaks  English,  and  he  believes 
in  the  Christian  religion.  The  idea  of  calling 
such  a  man  a  foreigner  !  " 

"  Oh,  it  did  n't  prevent  me  from  loving  him," 
she  confessed,  "  but  I  thought  at  first  it  would  be 
unpatriotic  to  marry  him." 

"  Did  you  think  Columbia  could  not  spare  you 
even  as  a  rare  specimen  to  be  used  for  exhibition 
purposes  ? "  I  asked  wickedly. 

"  You  know  I  am  not  so  conceited  as  that ! 
No,"  she  continued  ingenuously,  "  I  feared  that 
if  I  accepted  him  it  would  look,  over  here,  as  if 
the  home  supply  of  husbands  were  of  inferior 
quality  ;  and  then  we  had  such  disagreeable  dis- 
cussions at  the  beginning,  I  simply  could  not 
bear  to  leave  my  nice  new  free  country,  and  ally 
myself  with  his  aeons  of  tiresome  history.  But  it 
came  to  me  in  the  night,  a  week  ago,  that  after 
all  I  should  hate  a  man  who  did  n't  love  his 
fatherland ;  and  in  the  illumination  of  that  new 
idea  Ronald's  character  assumed  a  different  out- 
line in  my  mind.  How  could  he  love  America 
when  he  had  never  seen  it  ?  How  could  I  con- 
vince him  that  American  women  are  the  most 
charming  in  the  world  in  any  better  way  than  by 


252  Penelope  s  Progress 

letting  him  live  under  the  same  roof  with  a  good 
example  ?  How  could  I  expect  him  to  let  me 
love  my  country  best  unless  I  permitted  him  to 
love  his  best  ?  " 

"  You  need  n't  offer  so  many  apologies  for  your 
infatuation,  my  dear,"  I  answered  dryly. 

"  I  am  not  apologizing  for  it !  "  she  exclaimed 
impulsively.  "  Oh,  if  you  could  only  keep  it  to 
yourself,  I  should  like  to  tell  you  how  I  trust  and 
admire  and  reverence  Ronald  Macdonald,  but  of 
course  you  will  repeat  everything  to  Willie  Beres- 
ford  within  the  hour  !  You  think  he  has  gone  on 
and  on  loving  me  against  his  better  judgment. 
You  believe  he  has  fought  against  it  because  of 
my  unfitness,  but  that  I,  poor,  weak,  trivial  thing, 
am  not  capable  of  deep  feeling  and  that  I  shall 
never  appreciate  the  sacrifices  he  makes  in  choos- 
ing me  !  Very  well,  then,  I  tell  you  plainly  that 
if  I  had  to  live  in  a  damp  manse  the  rest  of  my 
life,  drink  tea  and  eat  scones  for  breakfast,  and 
—  and  buy  my  hats  of  the  Inchcaldy  milliner, 
I  should  still  glory  in  the  possibility  of  being 
Ronald  Macdonald's  wife,  —  a  possibility  hourly 
growing  more  uncertain,  I  am  sorry  to  say !  " 

"  And  the  extreme  aversion  with  which  you  be- 
gan," I  asked,  —  "  what  has  become  of  that,  and 
when  did  it  begin  to  turn  in  the  opposite  direc- 
tion ? " 

"  Aversion !  "  she  cried,  with  convincing  and 
unblushing  candor.    "  That  aversion  was  a  cover, 


Penelope  s  Progress  253 

clapped  on  to  keep  my  self-respect  warm.  I 
abused  him  a  good  deal,  it  is  true,  because  it  was 
so  delightful  to  hear  you  and  Salemina  take  his 
part.  Sometimes  I  trembled  for  fear  you  would 
agree  with  me,  but  you  never  did.  The  more  I 
criticised  him,  the  louder  you  sang  his  praises,  — 
it  was  lovely !  The  fact  is,  —  we  might  as  well 
throw  light  upon  the  whole  matter,  and  then 
never  allude  to  it  again  •  and  if  you  do  tell  Willie 
Beresford,  you  shall  never  visit  my  manse,  nor 
see  me  preside  at  my  mothers'  meetings,  nor  hear 
me  address  the  infant  class  in  the  Sunday-school, 
—  the  fact  is  I  liked  him  from  the  beginning  at 
Lady  Baird's  dinner.  I  liked  the  bow  he  made 
when  he  offered  me  his  arm  (I  wish  it  had  been 
his  hand)  ;  I  liked  the  top  of  his  head  when  it  was 
bowed ;  I  liked  his  arm  when  I  took  it ;  I  liked 
the  height  of  his  shoulder  when  I  stood  beside 
it;  I  liked  the  way  he  put  me  in  my  chair  (that 
showed  chivalry),  and  unfolded  his  napkin  (that 
was  neat  and  businesslike),  and  pushed  aside  all 
his  wineglasses  but  one  (that  was  temperate) ;  I 
liked  the  side  view  of  his  nose,  the  shape  of  his 
collar,  the  cleanness  of  his  shave,  the  manliness 
of  his  tone,  —  oh,  I  liked  him  altogether,  you 
must  know  how  it  is,  Penelope,  —  the  goodness 
and  strength  and  simplicity  that  radiated  from 
him.  And  when  he  said,  within  the  first  half-hour, 
that  international  alliances  presented  even  more 
difficulties  to  the  imagination  than  others,  I  felt, 


254  Penelope  s  Progress 

to  my  confusion,  a  distinct  sense  of  disappoint- 
ment. Even  while  I  was  quarreling  with  him,  I 
said  to  myself,  'You  poor  darling,  you  cannot 
have  him  even  if  you  should  want  him,  so  don't 
look  at  him  much  ! '  —  But  I  did  look  at  him  ; 
and  what  is  worse,  he  looked  at  me  ;  and  what  is 
worse  yet,  he  curled  himself  so  tightly  round  my 
heart  that  if  he  takes  himself  away,  I  shall  be 
cold  the  rest  of  my  life  ! " 

"Then  you  are  really  sure  of  your  love  this 
time,  and  you  have  never  advised  him  to  wed 
somebody  more  worthy  than  yourself  ? "  I  asked. 

"  Not  I !  "  she  replied.  "  I  would  n't  put  such 
an  idea  into  his  head  for  worlds  !  He  might 
adopt  it ! " 


XXV 

"  Pale  and  wan  was  she  when  Glenlogie  gaed  ben, 
But  red  rosy  grew  she  whene'er  he  sat  doun." 

Glenlogie. 

Just  here  the  front  door  banged,  and  a  manly 
step  sounded  on  the  stair.  Francesca  sat  up 
straight  in  a  big  chair,  and  dried  her  eyes  hastily 
with  her  poor  little  wet  ball  of  a  handkerchief ; 
for  she  knows  that  Willie  is  a  privileged  visitor 
in  my  studio.  The  door  opened  (it  was  ajar),  and 
Ronald  Macdonald  strode  into  the  room.  I  hope 
I  may  never  have  the  same  sense  of  nothingness 
again  !  To  be  young,  pleasing,  gifted,  and  to  be 
regarded  no  more  than  a  fly  upon  the  wall,  is 
death  to  one's  self-respect. 

He  dropped  on  one  knee  beside  Francesca  and 
took  her  two  hands  in  his  without  removing  his 
gaze  from  her  speaking  face.  She  burned,  but 
did  not  flinch  under  the  ordeal.  The  color  leaped 
into  her  cheeks.  Love  swam  in  her  tears,  but 
was  not  drowned  there  ;  it  was  too  strong. 

"  Did  you  mean  it  ?  "  he  asked. 

She  looked  at  him,  trembling,  as  she  said,  "  I 
meant  every  word,  and  far,  far  more.  I  meant 
all  that  a  girl  can  say  to  a  man  when  she  loves 
him,  and  wants  to  be  everything  she  is  capable  of 


256  Penelope's  Progress 

being  to  him,  to  his  work,  to  his  people,  and  to 
his  —  country." 

Even  this  brief  colloquy  had  been  embarrass- 
ing, but  I  knew  that  worse  was  still  to  come 
and  could  not  be  delayed  much  longer,  so  I  left 
the  room  hastily  and  with  no  attempt  at  apology ; 
not  that  they  minded  my  presence  in  the  least,  or 
observed  my  exit,  though  I  was  obliged  to  leap 
over  Mr.  Macdonald's  feet  in  passing. 

I  found  Mr.  Beresford  sitting  on  the  stairs,  in 
the  lower  hall. 

"Willie,  you  angel,  you  idol,  where  did  you 
find  him?"  I  exclaimed. 

"When  I  went  into  the  post-office,  an  hour 
ago,"  he  replied,  "  I  met  Francesca.  She  asked 
me  for  Macdonald's  Edinburgh  address,  saying 
she  had  something  that  belonged  to  him  and 
wished  to  send  it  after  him.  I  offered  to  address 
the  package  and  see  that  it  reached  him  as  ex- 
peditiously as  possible.  'That  is  what  I  wish/ 
she  said,  with  elaborate  formality.  '  This  is  some- 
thing I  have  just  discovered,  something  he  needs 
very  much,  something  he  does  not  know  he  has 
left  behind.'  I  did  not  think  it  best  to  tell  her 
at  the  moment  that  Macdonald  had  not  yet  de- 
serted Inchcaldy." 

"  Willie,  you  have  the  quickest  intelligence  and 
the  most  exquisite  insight  of  any  man  I  ever  met ! " 

"  But  the  fact  was  that  I  had  been  to  see  him 
off,  and  found  him  detained  by  the  sudden  illness 


Penelope  s  Progress  257 

of  one  of  his  elders.  I  rode  over  again  to  take 
him  the  little  parcel.  Of  course  I  don't  know 
what  it  contained  ;  by  its  size  and  shape  I  should 
judge  it  might  be  a  thimble,  or  a  collar-button, 
or  a  sixpence;  but,  at  all  events,  he  must  have 
needed  the  thing,  for  he  certainly  did  not  let  the 
grass  grow  under  his  feet  after  he  received  it ! 
Let  us  go  into  the  sitting-room  until  they  come 
down,  —  as  they  will  have  to,  poor  wretches, 
sooner  or  later ;  I  know  that  I  am  always  being 
brought  down  against  my  will.  Salemina  wants 
your  advice  about  the  number  of  her  Majesty's 
portraits  to  be  hung  on  the  front  of  the  cottage, 
and  the  number  of  candles  to  be  placed  in  each 
window." 

It  was  a  half-hour  later  when  Mr.  Macdonald 
came  into  the  room,  and  walking  directly  up  to 
Salemina  kissed  her  hand  respectfully. 

"  Miss  Salemina,"  he  said,  with  evident  emo- 
tion, "I  want  to  borrow  one  of  your  national 
jewels  for  my  Queen's  crown." 

"And  what  will  our  President  say  to  lose  a 
jewel  from  his  crown  ?  " 

"  Good  republican  rulers  do  not  wear  coronets, 
as  a  matter  of  principle,"  he  argued;  "but  in 
truth  I  fear  I  am  not  thinking  of  her  Majesty  — 
God  bless  her  !  This  gem  is  not  entirely  for  state 
occasions. 

•  I  would  wear  it  in  my  bosom, 
Lest  my  jewel  I  should  tine.' 


258  Penelope  s  Progress 

It  is  the  crowning  of  my  own  life  rather  than 
that  of  the  British  Empire  that  engages  my  pre- 
sent thought.  Will  you  intercede  for  me  with 
Francesca's  father  ? " 

"  And  this  is  the  end  of  all  your  international 
bickering  ?  "  Salemina  asked  teasingly. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered  ;  "  we  have  buried  the 
hatchet,  signed  articles  of  agreement,  made  trea- 
ties of  international  comity.  Francesca  stays 
over  here  as  a  kind  of  missionary  to  Scotland,  so 
she  says,  or  as  a  feminine  diplomat ;  she  wishes 
to  be  on  hand  to  enforce  the  Monroe  Doctrine 
properly,  in  case  her  government's  accredited 
ambassadors  relax  in  the  performance  of  their 
duty." 

"  Salemina  !  "  called  a  laughing  voice  outside 
the  door.  "  I  am  won'erful  lifted  up.  You  will 
be  a  prood  woman  the  day,  for  I  am  now  Estab- 
lished ! "  and  Francesca,  clad  in  Miss  Grieve's 
Sunday  bonnet,  shawl,  and  black  cotton  gloves, 
entered  and  curtsied  demurely  to  the  floor.  She 
held,  as  corroborative  detail,  a  life  of  John  Knox 
in  her  hand,  and  anything  more  incongruous  than 
her  sparkling  eyes  and  mutinous  mouth  under  the 
melancholy  head-gear  can  hardly  be  imagined. 

"  I  am  now  Established,"  she  repeated. 
"  Div  ye  ken  the  new  asseestant  frae  Inchcawdy 
pairish  ?  I  'm  the  mon  "  (a  second  deep  curtsy 
here).  "I  trust,  leddies,  that  ye '11  mak'  the 
maist  o'  your  releegious  preevileges,  an'  that  ye  '11 


Penelope  s  Progress  259 

be  constant  at  the  kurruk.  —  Have  you  given 
papa's  consent,  Salemina  ?  And  is  n't  it  dread- 
ful that  he  is  Scotch  ?  " 

"  Is  n't  it  dreadful  that  she  is  not  ?  "  asked  Mr, 
Macdonald.  "Yet  to  my  mind  no  woman  in 
Scotland  is  half  as  lovable  as  she  !  " 

"  And  no  man  in  America  begins  to  compare 
with  him,"  Francesca  confessed  sadly.  "  Is  n't 
it  pitiful  that  out  of  the  millions  of  our  own 
countrypeople  we  could  n't  have  found  somebody 
that  would  do  ?  What  do  you  think  now,  Lord 
Ronald  Macdonald,  of  those  dangerous  inter- 
national alliances  ? " 

"  You  never  understood  that  speech  of  mine," 
he  replied,  with  prompt  mendacity.  "When  I 
said  that  international  marriages  presented  more 
difficulties  to  the  imagination  than  others,  I  was 
thinking  of  your  marriage  and  mine,  and  that,  I 
knew  from  the  first  moment  I  saw  you,  would  be 
extremely  difficult  to  arrange  !  " 


XXVI 

"  And  soon  a  score  of  fires,  I  ween, 
From  height,  and  hill,  and  cliff,  were  seen ; 

Each  after  each  they  glanced  to  sight, 
As  stars  arise  upon  the  night. 
They  gleamed  on  many  a  dusky  tarn, 
Haunted  by  the  lonely  earn  ; 
On  many  a  cairn's  grey  pyramid, 
Where  urns  of  mighty  chiefs  lie  hid." 

The  Lay  of  ths  Last  Minstrel. 

The  rain  continued  at  intervals  throughout  the 
day,  but  as  the  afternoon  wore  on  the  skies 
looked  a  trifle  more  hopeful.  It  would  be  "  saft," 
no  doubt,  climbing  the  Law,  but  the  bonfire  must 
be  lighted.  Would  Pettybaw  be  behind  London  ? 
Would  Pettybaw  desert  the  Queen  in  her  hour  of 
need  ?  Not  though  the  rain  were  bursting  the 
well-heads  on  Cawda;  not  though  the  swollen 
mountain  burns  drowned  us  to  the  knee  !  So  off 
we  started  as  the  short  midsummer  night  de- 
scended. 

We  were  to  climb  the  Law,  wait  for  the  signal 
from  Cawda's  lonely  height,  and  then  fire  Petty- 
baw's  torch  of  loyalty  to  the  little  lady  in  black  ; 
not  a  blaze  flaming  out  war  and  rumors  of  war, 
as  was  the  beacon-fire  on  the  old  gray  battlements 
of  Edinburgh  Castle  in  the  days  of  yore,  but  a 


Penelope  s  Progress  261 

message  of  peace  and  good  will.  Pausing  at  a 
hut  on  the  side  of  the  great  green  mountain,  we 
looked  north  toward  Helva,  white-crested  with  a 
wreath  of  vapor.  (You  need  not  look  on  your 
map  of  Scotland  for  Cawda  and  Helva,  for  you 
will  not  find  them  any  more  than  you  will  find 
Pettybaw  and  Inchcaldy.)  One  by  one  the  tops 
of  the  distant  hills  began  to  clear,  and  with  the 
glass  we  could  discern  the  bonfire  cairns  upbuilt 
here  and  there  for  Scotland's  evening  sacrifice 
of  love  and  fealty.  Cawda  was  still  veiled,  and 
Cawda  was  to  give  the  signal  for  all  the  smaller 
fires.  Pettybaw's,  I  suppose,  was  counted  as  a 
flash  in  the  pan,  but  not  one  of  the  hundred 
patriots  climbing  the  mountain  side  would  have 
acknowledged  it;  to  us  the  good  name  of  the 
kingdom  of  Fife  and  the  glory  of  the  British  Em- 
pire depended  on  Pettybaw  fire.  Some  of  us  had 
misgivings,  too,  —  misgivings  founded  upon  Miss 
Grieve's  dismal  prophecies.  She  had  agreed  to 
put  nine  lighted  candles  in  each  of  our  cottage 
windows  at  ten  o'clock,  but  had  declined  to  go 
out  of  her  kitchen  to  see  a  procession,  hear  a 
band,  or  look  at  a  bonfire.  She  had  had  a  sair 
sickenin'  day,  an  amount  of  work  too  wearifu'  for 
one  person  by  her  lane.  She  hoped  that  the 
bonfire  wasna  built  o'  Mrs.  Sinkler's  coals  nor 
Mr.  Macbrose's  kindlings,  nor  soaked  with  Mr. 
Cameron's  paraffine  ;  and  she  finished  with  the 
customary  but  irrelative  and  exasperating  allusion 


262  Penelope  s  Progress 

to  the  exceedingly  nice  family  with  whom  she  had 
lived  in  Glasgy. 

And  still  we  toiled  upward,  keeping  our  doubts 
to  ourselves.  Jean  was  limping  bravely,  sup- 
ported by  Robin  Anstruther's  arm.  Mr.  Mac- 
donald  was  ardently  helping  Francesca,  who  can 
climb  like  a  chamois,  but  would  doubtless  rather 
be  assisted.  Her  gypsy  face  shone  radiant  out 
of  her  black  cloth  hood,  and  Ronald's  was  no 
less  luminous.  I  have  never  seen  two  beings 
more  love-daft.  They  comport  themselves  as  if 
they  had  read  the  manuscript  of  the  tender  pas- 
sion, and  were  moving  in  exalted  superiority 
through  a  less  favored  world,  —  a  world  waiting 
impatiently  for  the  first  number  of  the  story  to 
come  out. 

Still  we  climbed,  and  as  we  approached  the 
Grey  Lady  (a  curious  rock  very  near  the  summit) 
somebody  proposed  three  cheers  for  the  Queen. 

How  the  children  hurrahed.  —  for  the  infant 
heart  is  easily  inflamed,  —  and  how  their  shrill 
Jubilee  slogan  pierced  the  mystery  of  the  night, 
and  went  rolling  on  from  glen  to  glen  to  the  Firth 
of  Forth  itself !  Then  there  was  a  shout  from 
the  rocketmen  far  out  on  the  open  moor,  — 
"  Cawda  's  clear  !  Cawda  's  clear  !  "  Back 
against  a  silver  sky  stood  the  signal  pile,  and 
signal  rockets  flashed  upward,  to  be  answered 
from  all  the  surrounding  hills. 

Now  to  light  our  own  fire.     One  of  the  village 


Penelope  s  Progress  263 

committee  solemnly  took  off  his  hat  and  poured 
on  oil.  The  great  moment  had  come.  Brenda 
Macrae  approached  the  sacred  pile,  and,  tremu- 
lous from  the  effect  of  much  contradictory  advice, 
applied  the  torch.  Silence,  thou  Grieve  and 
others,  false  prophets  of  disaster !  Who  now 
could  say  that  Pettybaw  bonfire  had  been  badly 
built,  or  that  its  fifteen  tons  of  coal  and  twenty 
cords  of  wood  had  been  unphilosophically  heaped 
together ! 

The  flames  rushed  toward  the  sky  with  ruddy 
blaze,  shining  with  weird  effect  against  the  black 
fir-trees  and  the  blacker  night.  Three  cheers 
more !  God  save  the  Queen !  May  she  reign 
over  us,  happy  and  glorious  !  And  we  cheered 
lustily,  too,  you  may  be  sure !  It  was  more  for 
the  woman  than  the  monarch ;  it  was  for  the 
blameless  life,  not  for  the  splendid  monarchy; 
but  there  was  everything  hearty,  and  nothing 
alien  in  our  tone,  when  we  sang  "  God  Save  the 
Queen  "  with  the  rest  of  the  Pettybaw  villagers. 

The  land  darkened ;  the  wind  blew  chill. 
Willie,  Mr.  Macdonald,  and  Mr.  Anstruther 
brought  rugs,  and  found  a  sheltered  nook  for  us 
where  we  might  still  watch  the  scene.  There  we 
sat,  looking  at  the  plains  below,  with  all  the  vil- 
lage streets  sparkling  with  light,  with  rockets 
shooting  into  the  air  and  falling  to  earth  in 
golden  rain,  with  red  lights  flickering  on  the  gray 
lakes,  and  with   one   beacon-fire    after   another 


264  Penelope  s  Progress 

gleaming  from  the  hilltops,  till  we  could  count 
more  than  fifty  answering  one  another  from  the 
wooded  crests  along  the  shore,  some  of  them 
piercing  the  rifts  of  low-lying  clouds  till  they 
seemed  to  be  burning  in  mid-heaven. 

Then,  one  by  one,  the  distant  fires  faded,  and 
as  some  of  us  still  sat  there  silently,  far,  far  away 
in  the  gray  east  there  was  a  faint  flush  of  car- 
mine where  the  new  dawn  was  kindling  in  secret. 
Underneath  that  violet  bank  of  cloud  the  sun 
was  forging  his  beams  of  light.  The  pole-star 
paled.  The  breath  of  the  new  morrow  stole  up 
out  of  the  rosy  gray.  The  wings  of  the  morning 
stirred  and  trembled  ;  and  in  the  darkness  and 
chill  and  mysterious  awakening,  eyes  looked  into 
other  eyes,  hand  sought  hand,  and  cheeks  touched 
each  other  in  mute  caress. 


XXVII 

"  Sun,  gallop  down  the  westlin  skies, 
Gang  soon  to  bed,  an'  quickly  rise  ; 
O  lash  your  steeds,  post  time  away, 
And  haste  about  our  bridal  day  !  " 

The  Gentle  Shepherd. 

Every  noon,  during  this  last  week,  as  we  have 
wended  our  way  up  the  loaning  to  the  Pettybaw 
inn  for  our  luncheon,  we  have  passed  three  mag- 
pies sitting  together  on  the  topmost  rail  of  the 
fence.  I  am  not  prepared  to  state  that  they  were 
always  the  same  magpies ;  I  only  know  there 
were  always  three  of  them.  We  have  just  dis- 
covered what  they  were  about,  and  great  is  the 
excitement  in  our  little  circle.  I  am  to  be  mar- 
ried to-morrow,  and  married  in  Pettybaw,  and 
Miss  Grieve  says  that  in  Scotland  the  number  of 
magpies  one  sees  is  of  infinite  significance :  that 
one  means  sorrow ;  two,  mirth  ;  three,  a  marriage ; 
four,  a  birth,  and  we  now  recall  as  corroborative 
detail  that  we  saw  one  magpie,  our  first,  on  the 
afternoon  of  her  arrival. 

Mr.  Beresford  has  been  cabled  for,  and  must 
return  to  America  at  once  on  important  business. 
He  persuaded  me  that  the  Atlantic  is  an  ower 
large  body  of  water  to  roll  between  two  lovers, 
and  I  agreed  with  all  my  heart. 


266  Penelope  s  Progress 

A  wedding  was  arranged,  mostly  by  telegraph, 
in  six  hours.  The  Reverend  Ronald  and  the 
Friar  are  to  perform  the  ceremony  j  a  dear  old 
painter  friend  of  mine,  a  London  R.  A.,  will  come 
to  give  me  away ;  Francesca  will  be  my  maid  of 
honor  ;  Elizabeth  Ardmore  and  Jean  Dalziel,  my 
bridemaidens  ;  Robin  Anstruther,  the  best  man  j 
while  Jamie  and  Ralph  will  be  kilted  pages-in- 
waiting,  and  Lady  Ardmore  will  give  the  break- 
fast at  the  castle. 

Never  was  there  such  generosity,  such  hospi- 
tality, such  wealth  of  friendship !  True,  I  have 
no  wedding  finery ;  but  as  I  am  perforce  a  Scot- 
tish bride,  I  can  be  married  in  the  white  gown 
with  the  silver  thistles  in  which  I  went  to  Holy- 
rood. 

Mr.  Anstruther  took  a  night  train  to  and  from 
London,  to  choose  the  bouquets  and  bridal  sou- 
venirs. Lady  Baird  has  sent  the  veil,  and  a  won- 
derful diamond  thistle  to  pin  it  on,  —  a  jewel  fit 
for  a  princess  !  With  the  dear  Dominie's  note 
promising  to  be  an  usher  came  an  antique  silver 
casket  filled  with  white  heather.  And  as  for  the 
bride-cake,  it  is  one  of  Salemina's  gifts,  chosen 
as  much  in  a  spirit  of  fun  as  affection.  It  is 
surely  appropriate  for  this  American  wedding 
transplanted  to  Scottish  soil,  and  what  should  it 
be  but  a  model,  in  fairy  icing,  of  Sir  Walter's 
beautiful  monument  in  Princes  Street !  Of  course 
Francesca  is  full  of  nonsensical  quips  about  it, 


Penelope  s  Progress  267 

and  says  that  the  Edinburgh  jail  would  have  been 
just  as  fine  architecturally  (it  is,  in  truth,  a  build- 
ing beautiful  enough  to  tempt  an  aesthete  to 
crime),  and  a  much  more  fitting  symbol  for  a 
wedding-cake,  —  unless,  indeed,  she  adds,  Sale- 
mina  intends  her  gift  to  be  a  monument  to  my 
folly. 

Pettybaw  kirk  is  trimmed  with  yellow  broom 
from  these  dear  Scottish  banks  and  braes ;  and 
waving  their  green  fans  and  plumes  up  and  down 
the  aisle  where  I  shall  walk  a  bride,  are  tall  ferns 
and  bracken  from  Crummylowe  Glen,  where  we 
played  ballads. 

As  I  look  back  upon  it,  the  life  here  has  been 

all  a  ballad  from  first  to  last.     Like  the  elfin  Tam 

Lin, 

"  The  queen  o'  fairies  she  caught  me 
In  this  green  hill  to  dwell," 

and  these  hasty  nuptials  are  a  fittingly  romantic 
ending  to  the  summer's  poetry.  I  am  in  a  mood, 
were  it  necessary,  to  be  "  ta'en  by  the  milk-white 
hand,"  lifted  to  a  pillion  on  a  coal-black  charger, 
and  spirited  "  o'er  the  border  an'  awa'  "  by  my 
dear  Jock  o'  Hazledean.  Unhappily,  all  is  quite 
regular  and  aboveboard ;  no  "  lord  of  Langley 
dale  "  contests  the  prize  with  the  bridegroom,  but 
the  marriage  is  at  least  unique  and  unconven- 
tional ;  no  one  can  rob  me  of  that  sweet  consola- 
tion. 

So  "  gallop  down  the  westlin  skies,"  dear  Sun, 


268  Penelope  s  Progress 

but,  prythee,  gallop  back  to-morrow!  "Gang 
soon  to  bed,"  an  you  will,  but  rise  again  betimes  1 
Give  me  Queen's  weather,  dear  Sun,  and  shine  a 
benison  upon  my  wedding  morn  ! 

[Exit  Penelope  into   the  ballad-land  of  maiden 
dreams :] 


CAMBRIDGE,  MASSACHUSETTS,  U.  S.  A. 

ELECTROTYPED  AND  PRINTED  BY 

H.  O.  HOUGHTON    AND   CO. 


M 


VJ 


YE  37049 


